


Destiny is in Love with Effort

by InvictaAnimi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Anal Sex, Ancient Greece, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Constantinople, Explicit Sexual Content, F. Scott Fitzgerald - Freeform, French Revolution, Graduate Student Dean Winchester, History, Immortal Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Maldives, Michelangelo - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parthenon, Porn with Feelings, Renaissance Era, Russia, Shakespeare, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tale of Two Cities, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Time Travel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, charles darwin - Freeform, chuck - Freeform, galapagos islands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvictaAnimi/pseuds/InvictaAnimi
Summary: As a graduate student in history, Dean spends a ridiculous number of hours in the library. He's walked the aisles countless times, but he's never seen a book like this one. It's putting off a palpable hum that's not like anything he's heard before. It's also shimmering with golden sparks. When he reaches for it, he knows his life will never be the same.





	1. Peter the Great

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Dear Readers,
> 
> I participated in a writing challenge called [Destiel Fresh Hits](https://destielfreshhits.tumblr.com/) last month, and I enjoyed it so much that I'm doing it again. The prompt for this month is: History. My 'muse' immediately went nuts when I saw it yesterday, and I've already finished the first chapter. My handicap for this month is 27.
> 
> I'm rating it explicit because I can't seem to stay too far away from smut when it comes to these two characters, but it won't be hitting that rating for the first few chapters. So, for those of you who've read Subterranean and I'll Come for You, don't expect it to be smutty right out of the gate.
> 
> This story is much more about finding what you didn't realize belonged to you and working very diligently to hold onto it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the ride!

Surrounded by some of the greatest moments in history, Dean feels secure. Lonely, perhaps, as he is the only person in the stacks tonight. He breathes in the unique mustiness that pervades all libraries; the smell of knowledge is what he calls it. His practical, unimaginative younger brother, Sam, calls it mold. 

As a graduate student in the History Department at the University of Texas, Dean spends the majority of his time seated on these bulky, wooden chairs; sitting in them so long that he swears his once nicely-rounded butt has gone completely flat. If he jogged to the library once in a while, or took a night off to spend at the gym, it might return to its previous splendor. With no one to impress, though, why should he bother? ‘That’s depressing,’ he thinks. ‘I’m only 25 and I’m already letting myself go.’ He makes a vow to get himself back in shape once this project is complete. 

The notebook in front of him is filled with notes on the Russian Tzars, but there are still gaps that must be filled. The professor for his Dynastic Empires course requires each of them to teach a lecture series on their selected empire, and Dean’s knowledge must be close to encyclopedic if he hopes to secure a spot as his TA next semester. One particular gap that he is struggling with is understanding the political reasons for Peter the Great’s decision to change Russia from a tzardom to an empire. 

“Once more unto the breach,” he sighs as he wanders back to the shelves that feel like a second home. The multi-colored and patterned carpet is worn, just as it is in the aisles. The beige metal shelves stand silently bearing the weight of the ages. 

Halfway into the aisle, there is a shift to the air. A palpable density that prickles along his skin and makes him shiver. ‘That’s new,’ he frowns. The typical hush in the room is disturbed as well. A hum, unlike anything he’s ever heard, starts low and gradually increases in volume. He can’t imagine what could be making the sound, not quite electric, but nothing natural, either. 

The book he came searching for sits next to the apparent source of the noise. It’s emanating from a large red book without a title on the spine. The closer he gets, the more his fingers itch to reach out and take it. At this distance, he notices a faint shimmer to the edges, as if they are lined by the tiniest of sparklers. 

His hand comes up unbidden, and he just barely forces it to a halt before he makes contact. His breathing is labored; his mind torn between recognizing the potential danger and having to explore it anyway. Feeling for all the world that this is a decision of monumental import, he inhales deeply and grasps the book. The result is the impossible feel of hundreds of fingers coasting over his skin. His mouth opens on a gasp. 

Without looking at the book in his hands, he rushes to the table, setting it down before sitting and tucking himself into the laminate-covered desk. His hands firmly gripping the sides of his chair, he gives in and looks down at the cover. Besides the incredible glittering highlights and unnatural buzz, the book looks like any other. The title is simply, “Peter the Great”. There are no illustrations and no other information about what might be contained inside. 

Dean slides a nervous hand over his mouth and jaw before he makes up his mind to open the book. His fingers hover just above it, flexing and tensing in anticipation. When he does flip open the cover, he does it quickly, as though he’s afraid of its bite. Thankfully, the book has no teeth or claws. 

Seeing the absolutely average page full of words and illustrations, Dean huffs a shaky laugh at himself. He looks around surreptitiously, just to be sure no one had witnessed his ridiculous fear of a book. Turning the pages delicately, he admires the beautiful pictures on almost every page. 

On one page in particular, the unique properties of the book seem to amplify. The painting in the center of the page is of the coronation of Peter the Great. It is vividly colored and shimmering with the same substance as the book’s edges. His fingers drift to touch it. 

His next blink takes an eternity; his body goes weightless and pliant. When his eyes open, he is standing in the middle of an impossible sight. After years of study, he would recognize the Kremlin anywhere, from any angle. He is in a crowd of excited people dressed in what appears to be period costume from the 17th century. In front of him is the Dormition Cathedral, the church where all Russian tzars were crowned. His heart races as he takes in his surroundings. This can’t be. It must be a dream. 

In front of them is a large parade, the aristocracy waving to the crowd from their protected position on horseback in the center of regimented troops of soldiers. They are not dressed in Imperial Russian uniforms, so this must be prior to 1721. He shakes his head at the thought. He’s never dreamed in such specific detail. 

As he continues to observe, he notices that every one of his senses is completely involved. The people are cheering in Russian. Dean only knows a few phrases, but it’s enough to know that they are not speaking gibberish. How can he dream in a language he doesn’t know? And the air! When a light breeze passes, he smells the crisp virgin air of a time before oil and coal were used for energy. Without the breeze, he smells unwashed bodies, horses, and wood fires as well. 

He looks to his left at a particularly somber man and taps him on the shoulder. As politely as possible, Dean asks him what is going on. The man doesn’t respond, so he asks again in Russian. “Chto eto?” 

He knows his accent is horrible, but ignoring him completely seems a bit rude considering their culture is known to be very welcoming to visitors who try to speak their language. Rolling his eyes, Dean turns to his right and tries again to communicate with another spectator. Again, nothing. They won’t even make eye contact or acknowledge him at all. 

An insidious thought sneaks in. Maybe they can’t see him. If they can’t see him, he can do whatever he wants. He turns behind him and starts waving his hands in people’s faces. He claps loudly in their ears, and he even makes rude gestures. Okay. That settles it. No one so much as flinches. A sly smile spreads on his face. He rubs his hands together and pushes through the crowd with ease. 

Boldly, he marches into the cathedral alongside the soldiers and dignitaries. He’s seen dozens of pictures of the cathedral, but they don’t prepare him for the splendor of its reality. And again, the idea nags him; how can this be reality? But, it’s all right here in front of him. 

The gold onion domes and beautifully frescoed entrances are impressive, but the interior is magnificent. Gaping at the columns of finely filigreed gold, he lets the crowd dictate his pace and direction. 

When the centerpiece of the Orthodox church, the iconostasis, comes into view, Dean stops moving. The enormous five-tiered display of icons is stunning. He knows that some of these icons were painted as far back as the 13th century. With reverence for such an important part of history, he gets a closer look. All framed in superfluous gold frames, the icons are painted in deep, rich colors and leafed in more gold. Most of them are in good enough repair to be able to read their inscriptions, if he read the Cyrillic alphabet better than a toddler. 

Limping along in his letter by letter phonetics, he feels an unsettling presence approach to his left. Ominous shivers race down his spine, and Dean settles into a subtle fighting stance. 

“Amazing, aren’t they?” The instant the man’s rich, velvety baritone reaches Dean’s ears, he feels an ache explode in his chest. He can’t help but turn to see who the voice belongs to. He almost whimpers at the sight. Soulful, clear blue eyes meet his with both kindness and scandalous interest. Dressed in a blue-gray velvet overcoat with ornate white and silver embellishment, the man is obviously nobility, if not royalty. 

Dean clears his throat, never once taking his eyes off of him. “Yes, breathtaking.” 

The elegant man takes a step forward, licking his wide, pink lips. “You realize you’re missing the coronation.” 

Dean can’t help but follow the movement of his tongue. Too late, he catches on to the fact that he’s missed what the man said. “The what now?” 

The man graces him with a secret smile. “Peter’s coronation. It’s happening now.” 

“Oh,” is all he says. Dean feels that the information should be important, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out why. Not when his every fantasy has coalesced into one man, who is suddenly standing in front of him. Dean has always had a very specific type: dark hair, blue eyes, sharp jaw, deep voice, strong hands. Not only does he check off every box, the combination of features is somehow more than just handsome; he’s beautiful. He’s ethereal. 

The man has been watching Dean with a similar appreciation. There is delight in his eyes, as if Dean is a treasure that he’s just found. After long moments studying each other, the man shakes his head as if to clear it and offers his hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being very rude. My name is Castiel.” 

Dean reaches for his hand just as he hears him say, “I’ve been waiting a very long time for this. Hello, Dean.” 

The shock of his words combine with the jolt of energy that pulses through him when their skin touches. Dean gasps and jerks himself away from the contact. 

In the same movement, his surroundings warp, twist, and he falls...back into his chair at the library. He’s back in the green-tinted fluorescent lighting, smelling the musty books and nothing else. He braces his hands on the table, trying to calm his heaving breath. Looking around him frantically, he tries to comprehend what happened. The violent shift in his environment is short-circuiting his brain. Was it a dream? Had he fallen asleep? 

Looking down to see the still open book, he jumps up to his feet, feeling the immediate need to escape. Shaking hands cram his notebook and phone into his backpack before he practically sprints to the staircase. There’s no way he’s putting himself on an elevator right now. 

The farther he gets from the book, the calmer he feels. He gathers himself and his scattered thoughts by the time he reaches his Impala, and by the time he opens his apartment door, he’s able to analyze the experience. 

Cracking open a beer, he sits on his couch and rehashes every second of the bizarre dream. Because that’s what he’s decided it must have been. An incredibly realistic, vivid dream brought on by spending too many hours cramming his head full of knowledge of a tzardom that died out centuries ago. 

The details, though. How did he dream the intricate details of a place he’s never been? How did he dream in Russian? Why was everything so real? 

And then there’s Castiel. Dean sighs as he thinks of the man. It makes sense that he would concoct the perfect man in his dreams. He simply pulled a ‘Weird Science’ and Frankenstein-ed together every possible attractive trait into one person. ‘No one like that actually exists,’ he scoffs. Oh, but he wishes that he did. 

The fact that Dean is creating mystery men in his dreams is telling. He hasn’t been on a date in so long, he can hardly remember the last one. Was it that bartender he met on Sam’s 19th birthday? Jesus. That fumbling back alley hand job wasn’t even a date. That was just the last time he’d been physical with anyone. Even then, he didn’t get off. 

He’d never really been able to connect romantically with anyone. He wants to, more than he would ever acknowledge. However, one terrible dating experience after another had left him feeling hollow and hopeless. After his freshman year, he just gave up. It was easier to focus on his education and enjoy the company of his friends. 

His thoughts drift back to Castiel. The ache in his chest returns tenfold. He feels a longing, a tangible pull towards him that he has never felt before. He looks down, realizing that he is rubbing the hand that touched his dream man. Without intending to, he’s seeking contact with a man that doesn’t exist. 

Dean exhales in annoyance, slamming the bottle down on the coffee table. He refuses to pine for a dream. He’s going to bed. Secretly, he hopes that his dream man will return once he’s unconscious. 

***** 

McTavish’s class on the Crusades has never bored him, until today. Bored might be misconstruing it. He’s too distracted to pay any attention to the lecture. He’s watching every second tick on the analog clock, waiting for 11am, when he can finally go back to the library. 

He had woken up this morning, dreamless and confused. In the light of day, he’s thinking more clearly. He’s sure that he had exaggerated his experiences with the book, but still feels the need to investigate it thoroughly. Just in case. 

A secret thrill rises in him at the thought that perhaps there is another explanation for what took place last night. A little sliver of hope sneaks in to wind itself through his rational thoughts. Maybe the book is magic. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe Castiel is real. 

When the professor final releases them, he speed walks through the halls and cuts through the Biology building to get to the library as quickly as possible. He even jogs part of the way. Who knew that delusions could make you follow through on your fitness goals? 

Again, he takes the stairs, but this time it is due to impatience, not fear. He heads straight for the aisle where he found the book, stomach twisting at the thought that it might not be there. Eyes scanning over every spine, he stops when he sees the red book, nestled back between its brothers. With a deep breath, he takes it off the shelf. 

It registers that there are no unusual qualities to it today, but he’s too excited to let it occupy his thoughts for long. Not bothering to go back to a table, he plops down on the floor with the book open in his hands. He’s staring down at the painting, relishing the moment. He smiles as he touches it expectantly. 

Nothing. Nothing happens. He’s still here. No. Dean closes the book and his eyes. ‘Please. Let it happen again,’ he prays. When he tries it again, belief is in every cell of his body. Still nothing. He is gaping at the book in disappointment. 

He flips to the front of the large tome and, page by page, he touches every picture, every word. Still he feels nothing but a paper cut. Once he reaches the end of the index, disappointment turns into incredulity and then heartache. 

Shutting the book, he wraps it in his arms and tips his head down. The burden of tremendous loss overwhelms him, and his eyes fill with tears. It’s ridiculous. He knows it is, and yet he feels the pain like something in him has been severed. In the back of his mind, he can feel a tiny spark; something that was not there before. It’s calling out to him, reaching for him. 

Dean wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and reluctantly re-shelves the book. Looking around at the thousands of books on this floor alone, he feels daunted. Finding another book that might possibly bring him back seems like an inconceivably difficult task. Dean is nothing if not tenacious. 

*****


	2. Natural Selection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean searches for a way to get back to Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my amazing readers!
> 
> Thank you for your gracious support for the first chapter of this story. This second chapter is over twice the length of the first one. There is a LOT going on. Huge developments in plot, but also...  
> I told you I would earn that Explicit rating.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It takes Dean hours to comb through the Russian history section of the library. He had started by walking through the aisles, listening for the distinctive hum and watching for shimmering gold. When that turned up nothing, he went back to the first book shelved in the section and worked his way through. He’s touched tens of thousands of pages, his eagerness long since dissipated. Nonetheless, he can’t stop. 

His phone has been buzzing incessantly for the past hour, but Dean ignores it. Driven to find either another avenue to get to Castiel or some answers to his questions, Dean refuses to let anything distract him. It isn’t until he feels the phone alert him to at least five new texts in under a minute that he relents. Sighing, he glances at the screen. Of course, they’re all from Sam. 

Without bothering to read them, he dials Sam’s number. When he picks up, Dean asks very quietly, “What’s the goddamned emergency, Sammy?” 

“Are you kidding me right now? You stood me up for dinner.” 

Dean glances at the time. It’s past eight o’clock already. “I’m sorry, man. I totally lost track of time.” 

“I don’t have a car, ass wipe. Do you know how long it took me to get here?” 

Dean looks at the shelves in front of him. There are just a few more books to go through, but he can’t leave his younger brother stranded. He is tempted to Zelle him some money for a cab so that he can continue his work, but it isn’t the right thing to do. Damn his sense of familial duty. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dean marks his place on the shelf with a subtle sharpie mark, and then heads out of the library. When he steps outside, a dull throbbing starts up in the back of his head, suspiciously close to where that little spark appeared the night before. The connection, or whatever it is, is just going to have to wait. He can’t put his entire life on hold to deal with this strange phenomenon. It terrifies him how much he wants to, though. 

Once he gets to Torchy’s, he finds that he’s ravenous. He hasn’t thought about food all day, not since he left his apartment this morning before his first class. Come to think of it, he barely ate yesterday, either. He finds Sam in a booth, picking petulantly at his leftover chips and salsa. 

Flopping down across from him, he apologizes, “Hey, man. I really am sorry.” When his brother refuses to look up, he adds, “This project is kicking my ass, Sammy. I have a lot riding on these lectures. If Dr. Castillo likes my work, I’ll be the top of the list to TA for him. His recommendation can get me into the doctoral program.” 

Sam looks up then, hesitant forgiveness in his eyes. Dean feels a pinch of guilt, but nothing he said isn’t true. It just isn’t the reason he forgot about their plans. 

“I know you’re busy, Dean, but so am I. I’m taking a full load, plus work and the paper. If you don’t want to keep up our Thursday dinners-” 

“No, Sammy. I do.” Dean sits back when the waitress arrives. He orders his barbacoa tacos without needing the menu, and he devotes his attention to his brother with a proud smile. “So catch me up on your week.” 

After his belly is full to bursting and his mouth is scorched from the insanely spicy salsa, Dean feels the need to get Sammy’s take on his bizarre night at the library. “I had the craziest dream last night,” he starts innocuously. 

Sam gives him a lopsided grin. “I don’t want to hear about your porn dreams, Dean.” 

He waves him off. “Nah, it was nothing like that.” He takes a sip of his water, wishing it was something much stronger, and runs his clammy hands on his jeans. “It was just super detailed and vivid.” 

“Yeah?” 

Dean nods. “A book in the library transported me to Moscow during the coronation of Peter the Great.” 

“Of course that’s what you’d dream about,” his brother scoffs. 

“No, but listen. The crowd, they were all speaking Russian.” 

“How do you know? You don’t speak Russian.” 

“I know enough to recognize how it sounds. And it was sensory overload. Smells, sounds, everything.” 

“Okay.” 

Dean can tell that Sam isn’t getting the significance, that he’s prevented him from understanding by calling it a dream to begin with. “There was a man there, the only one who noticed me or would talk to me. He spoke to me in English, and he knew my name.” 

“Of course he did, it was your dream.” 

Dean huffs in frustration. “I was at the library at the time, and when I came out of it, I wasn’t waking up. I was still awake.” 

Sam squints at him. “What do you mean?” 

Dean’s heart is speeding up at the thought of sharing this secret. “I don’t think it was a dream,” he admits quietly. 

Sam grins, “Dean, what else could it have been?” 

Dean shrugs, truly baffled as well. “I don’t know. All I know is that I was wide awake, looking for a book, and when I found one that was making a weird sound and giving off a pyrotechnic display, it sent me into the past.” 

He’s aware of how crazy he sounds. The look on his brother’s face confirms it. 

“You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to analyze that dream, Dean. You’re stressed about the project; you’ve been putting in long hours. And the guy? When was the last time you dated? Of course your mind conjured up some guy because there isn’t one in real life. So when you pass out at the library, you dream about your stress and what is missing. And that’s all it was: a dream.” 

Dean has said enough. He nods his head in agreement. “You’re right. Of course. It was just really realistic.” 

“Let’s go so you can get some sleep tonight. You obviously need it.” 

Dean ruffles his hair before he stands up because his younger brother is now taller than him, and he can’t get away with it standing. “Alright, squirt. It looks like you could use some beauty sleep, too.” 

***** 

Dean spends the entire next day in the library. Once he finishes searching the Russian history section, he expands to European History. That takes him into the late hours of the following day to complete. With every book that he closes and reshelves, a tiny bit of his optimism dwindles as the spark, the tiny glowing spot in his brain, grows more desperate. 

On the third day, his hope gives out entirely in the middle of a book on the East India Company. He’s skipped four classes, forgotten to do multiple readings, and he missed a paper deadline for his Historical Perspectives on Sex and Intimacy course. He’s exhausted, hungry, and borderline dehydrated. Still, it takes extraordinary effort to make himself set the book down and walk away. 

Coming off the elevator, he takes an unexpected turn toward the Biology stacks without understanding why. There are at least two exits that are more convenient. Although, he could head toward Guadalupe and see what restaurant strikes his fancy, so he shrugs it off. Winding through the section, the idea of Vietnamese bun makes him salivate. Without explanation, his feet come to a stuttering halt. 

Faintly, almost as if it wanted to remain hidden, he hears the hum. Dean’s eyes dart around the area, even as he strains to hear where it is coming from. Leaping to action, he scours every shelf seeking out that beautiful noise. The empty well of hope fills with a deluge. An excited smile twitches as the sound gets louder. There. He pinpoints the shelf, and now, he can see the glittering gold. He huffs out a laugh. He isn’t crazy. He hadn’t been dreaming. 

Taking the book from the shelf unleashes the same sensation as before. He is only a little surprised to see the title, _On the Origin of Species._ Quickly, he flips through the pages until he finds an illustration of the ship Darwin sailed on, the HMS Beagle. With a steadying breath, he touches the drawing and falls. 

Before his eyes fully open, he feels the sway of the deck beneath his feet. The warm salt air fills his lungs like a rebirth. All around him, men scurry around the deck, focused solely on their tasks. Just as before, they don’t pay him any attention. Part of him wants to marvel at this opportunity to observe history being made. 

However, he is filled with restless energy; the urge to find Castiel is a compulsion. From bow to stern, he looks for the wild shock of dark hair. It isn’t until he passes one of the officer’s quarters that he hears his voice. For the first time since he was pulled away from Moscow, his mind settles completely. 

With a light touch, he pushes the cracked door open enough to see inside. There he is. Dean’s heart pounds to see Castiel standing just a few feet away. Each and every beat bumps with the message, “He’s real! He’s real!” 

Dean is mesmerized by his beauty, can only stare at him from the doorway. When Castiel looks up from conferring with the older man next to him, the incoming sunlight catches his eyes, making them brighter than the sky outside. His genuine smile when he sees Dean standing there steals his breath. 

Castiel gestures for him to come in. As soon as he is close enough, he takes Dean’s hand with a sly grin. 

“Mr. Darwin, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Winchester.” 

The older, scruffy man looks up from his work and Dean bites his lip to keep from cussing or passing out. He’s looking into the face of Charles Darwin. 

“Winchester? I don’t remember a Winchester in the crew.” 

Castiel puts a hand on his arm. “He came aboard when we picked up supplies in Salango.” 

“Oh, yes.” Darwin holds his hand out for Dean to shake. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Dean swallows hard and nods. “It is an honor, sir.” 

“Mr. Winchester noticed something about the island birds that I thought you might find fascinating.” 

“Did he now? What is that?” 

“He noticed that each island had those little tiny birds, what are they called?” 

“The finches?” 

“Yes, yes, of course. He noticed that each island’s finches were completely unique. Isn’t that fascinating?” 

Darwin furrows his brow and hums in thought. Stroking his long, unkempt beard, he agrees, “Yes, that is quite interesting indeed.” 

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your work, sir. I just wanted to bring that observation to your attention.” 

Darwin waves them off, already back at work, while Castiel guides Dean out onto deck. 

When he shuts the door behind them, he finally turns his full attention on Dean. “It is so good to see you. I have been hoping that you would find your way back to me.” 

There are so many questions that he wants to ask, so many things he doesn’t understand, that he flounders, shaking his head incredulously. 

Castiel smiles gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Dean. It’s a lot to take in. Take your time. I will answer any questions that I can.” 

“How am I here?” 

Castiel chuckles, “You went right for the difficult one.” Taking his hand again, they walk as he explains, “You’ve found a way to time travel to different points in history where I have worked.” 

“Worked?” 

“Yes, my job is to influence mankind toward necessary change.” 

Dean stops, concern etched in his features. “Like what you just did with Darwin?” 

Castiel is sheepish with his answer. “Yes, well, I was tired of waiting for him to draw the right conclusion. Besides, now he owes a huge debt to you for guiding him to a ground-breaking observation.” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and raises a brow. “You lied to Charles Darwin.” 

Castiel sidles up next to Dean, tilting his head. “Does that bother you, Dean?” 

“It gives me pause.” 

“How so?” 

“You influence mankind.” 

“Yes.” 

“So all of these people that we celebrate for their amazing discoveries are just puppets? They aren’t actually the ones thinking and inventing? You have to see how that might be worrisome.” 

“No, no, no. You misunderstand me, Dean.” When Castiel lifts his hand to Dean’s face, he steps back instinctively. He isn’t prepared to see the devastation on Castiel’s face at his rejection. 

Even in the face of his sadness, he explains, “Time is not linear like you live it. That is the first thing that you must understand. The next is that any event, any moment, has almost infinite possible outcomes. In this instance, almost every one of those infinite possibilities leads Darwin to the discovery of his groundbreaking theories.” 

“So he would have come to that observation on his own?” 

“In almost every scenario, yes.” 

“Then why did he need the nudge?” 

Castiel smiles, “Imagine if one of those other possibilities occurred instead. Imagine the world without the understanding of natural selection and evolution.” 

Dean nods in acceptance, softening instantly to Castiel. He steps closer without thought. “Sorry, I just had to be sure that you weren’t-” He drifts off, caught up in the beautiful features of his face. 

“An evil puppet master?” Castiel finishes with a raised brow. 

Dean laughs, “Yeah. Exactly.” 

“What other questions do you have?” Cas steals the remaining space between them, releasing his hand and sliding his arm around Dean’s waist instead. 

“Why could Darwin interact with me when no one else can?” 

“I let him.” 

“You - what now?” 

“I took your hand before our interaction with him. I allowed him to see you even though you’re not physically here, just as I’m hiding us both right now.” 

“You are?” 

“They’d think me crazy for talking to myself otherwise,” Castiel winks. 

Already, Dean has more to think about than he can acknowledge, let alone process. Still, he has to know, “Why me?” 

“You’re very special, Dean.” 

“No, I’m just an average American college student,” Dean denies, trying to look away from his honesty. 

Castiel shakes his head and cups Dean’s jaw carefully. His eyes are reverent and filled with emotion. “You are so much more than that. You’re a miracle.” 

Dean licks his lips, affected by Castiel’s words and the way he’s looking at him. “How did you know me when we met?” 

Castiel slides his thumb gently over Dean’s bottom lip as he admits, “Oh sweetheart, I’ve known you since the very beginning of time.” 

Dean doesn’t want to think anymore. It’s too much, too overwhelming. He lets Castiel pull him in for a kiss. 

When their lips touch for the first time, Dean swears that fireworks erupt from the depths of his soul. The shimmering, vibrant heat is eating away at the parts of him that are keeping him from this man. He gasps at the transformative sensation. 

The wonder on Castiel’s face makes Dean need more. He takes the next kiss, puts all of his desire into it. His hands come up to hold Castiel to him as he plunders his mouth. Dean feels triumphant when he both hears and feels the moan rumble up from his chest. 

“Cas, what is this? What’s happening?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I just...need. I need more, Dean.” 

Dean lets out an embarrassing whimper before Cas takes his mouth again with intoxicating skill. He licks into his mouth, sucks on his lips, presses his teeth into them in a primal claim. Fuck, does Dean want to be claimed by him. Through it all, he can feel the unnecessary dropping away. 

Going back for another taste, he feels Castiel's humid breath dissipate as Dean falls forward, barely catching himself before he hits the bookshelf in front of him. 

“No, no, no,” he says in horror, trying to identify the cause of his abrupt return. He looks down to see the book on the floor and another pair of feet near him. When his eyes follow them up, a perky redhead with a high ponytail gives him a pinched look. “What?” 

“What did you do?” Dean questions in a hushed panic. 

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Dude, get a grip. You were blocking the aisle. I said, ‘Excuse me’, but you didn’t move.” 

His nostrils flare and his lip twitches as he fights back the tirade he wants to unleash. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t have a clue what she just took from him. He swipes the book up from the floor and absently tosses it on the shelf. 

“You don’t want that book? You were completely wrapped up in it 30 seconds ago.” 

Dean levels her with a glare. “No, it’s worthless to me now.” 

Dean acknowledges that the spark is back, larger and brighter than before, but so is the ache. He recognizes it now as longing, and it will only get worse until he finds another book that will take him back to Cas. Huh. He likes the shortened version of his name. It’s familiar, intimate. 

Campus is quiet at this hour. Everyone is out, studying, or asleep. Dean is exhausted. The library will be closing soon, so he should take the opportunity to get some rest. He’ll come back in the morning refreshed and ready to start the search all over again. 

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Dean walks down Speedway toward his apartment. It must have rained earlier, because the pavement has an oily shine where the streetlights highlight it. The hush of nightfall gives him the perfect opportunity to think through what he’s learned. 

Cas was in Russia in 1698 and on the HMS Beagle in 1835. He looked exactly the same in both times. So, either he’s traveling out of time like Dean is, or what? He’s immortal? That’s a thread he doesn’t want to pull on too forcefully. He might just unravel. 

Wait. He’s glossing over the biggest realization of them all. Time travel. Holy shit! He’s time traveling. That’s enough of a mind fuck to dwell on for days. He shook Charles Darwin’s hand today. A little manic laugh bubbles up and out of his mouth before he can contain it. 

Why is he accepting this so easily? It’s hard to deny the experiences he’s had, but – time travel? He’s not dreaming, he knows that much, but what if there is a third alternative? What if he is legitimately losing his mind? How would he know? There must be some irrefutable proof that would convince him. Can he bring something back with him? 

Cas had said that other people can’t interact with him because he’s not physically there. His body was still in the library when the girl bumped him earlier, so however he is traveling is a purely mental connection. There’s another check in the crazy column. 

But if the connection isn’t physical, how could he smell, taste, and touch so vividly? How could he feel so much? 

That kiss was real. His stomach twists at the thought of it. He licks his lips, hoping against reason that he might catch a hint of Cas’s taste. When he doesn’t, he sighs. He was lonely before this bizarre week, but now that loneliness has a name and a voice. 

Dean opens the door to his apartment. It’s never looked so beige and forgettable. There’s nothing of him in this place. That’s fine, he thinks as he tosses the keys on the counter. It’s just a place to rest his body until he can go back to his search. 

***** 

At 6:58 am, Dean is waiting at the doors of the library. Even after stopping for coffee, he’s early. More than anything, he wants to pound on the door and demand to be let in. He can’t. He won’t. The last thing he needs is to be barred from the one place that will allow him to connect with Cas. Instead, he bounces on the balls of his feet, paces by the empty bike racks. 

When the sleepy student worker opens the doors promptly at 7 am, Dean has to force himself not to mow the kid over in his hurry to get into the building. He’d spent most of the night laying in his bed, his mind refusing to shut down, so he’d planned instead. 

He predicts that the book he will find today, and he will find one, he’s sure of it, will be in a different section of the library. He’s had success once in the history section and once in biology, which still leaves almost six floors of books to look through. 

Undaunted, Dean decides to start with foreign languages because they change over time and they definitely have a history. He carelessly picks a table to drop his belongings and starts at one end of the large section. Methodically, he walks the aisles, listening for that magical hum, watching for twinkling sparks. 

He refuses to feel disappointment when he exhausts the collection. He takes out the floor plan that he printed at home and crosses out the area. Looking over the list, he chooses the art section next. 

When the elevator door opens, he immediately feels an energy boost. There’s a vibration in the air that he’s coming to associate with Castiel. Aisle by aisle, he continues his quest, feet speeding up as the sounds become more insistent. 

Finally, he sees an oversized book on the bottom shelf that is awash in golden shimmers. Before he touches it, he finds the librarian desk on the floor and requests a private study room. Taking the key from him, he allows himself to retrieve the book, delighting in the phantom caress. Once he’s in the room with the door secured, he sits in front of the book about Michelangelo. The glowing image of _The Pieta_ coaxes him to reach out. 

Leaving the world behind willingly, Dean opens his eyes to a lavish ball room. Spinning gowns trail coy laughter behind them like a lure. Dean has stopped acknowledging the other people in these visits. Only one of them can communicate with him, and he is the reason for Dean being here. Walking carefully through the dancers, Dean hunts for the object of his obsession. 

When he spots him at the back of room speaking seriously with a young man, Dean stalks towards him. Intention and lust radiate from him as he approaches. Castiel catches sight of him, a smile starting to form before his eyes go wide. He dismisses his companion with a brief word and braces for the impact. 

Their lips meet first, and there is nothing timid or gentle in the way Dean takes his mouth. Walking them the short distance to the wall, he continues his assault. Hands cupping his face, Dean speaks against his mouth. 

“I’m not going to pull away and no one is going to bump into me. I’m secured in a room alone with the book, so I won’t disappear on you again.” 

Castiel’s eyes mirror the intensity he’s feeling. “Hallelujah. Let me make my excuses and we can go back to my room.” 

Dean nods, taking in a deep breath to calm himself while he releases the man. Castiel tilts his head and asks, “Would you like to meet him?” 

“Meet?” Dean thinks about the book in his hands back in the present. His eyebrows leap up to his hairline. “Who? Michelangelo?” 

Cas chuckles and gives him a chaste kiss. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you now, and maybe later we can go see his progress on his latest commission.” 

“It’s _The Pieta_ , isn’t it?” Dean asks with obvious enthusiasm. Cas hums agreement as he tangles their fingers together. 

“Michelangelo isn’t my only concern here. There is a confluence of important ideas and art forms coming from this time period. I have my hands full.” 

“Do you do this alone?” 

“Yes and No. I work alone, but there are others like me spread out across the world.” 

“Makes sense. There are a lot of people to manipulate into the right decisions,” Dean teases. 

Castiel scrutinizes him, but apparently takes the comment at face value. “Yes, even more in your day.” 

Dean can’t hold back the question any longer. “What are you, Cas?” 

“Cas?” 

“Don’t deflect.” 

He gives a sad smile and pulls Dean in closer. “You don’t have a name for me, for my kind. All these centuries, and no human has ever known one of us enough to give us a name.” 

Consoling him with a gentle caress of his thumb across his wrist, Dean listens. 

“I suppose you might say that we are protectors of destiny.” 

Dean licks his lips and gives him a cheeky smile. 

“What?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing, just sounds like you're describing a bouncer at a strip club.” 

The head tilt becomes severe and Dean waves it off. “I’m sure strip clubs are -” 

“I’m well aware of what strip clubs are, Dean.” 

Interest creeps up into his gaze. “Yeah? Have you ever been to one, Cas?” 

“Not in their modern sense, no.” 

“There’s a story in there,” he teases. 

“Exotic dancing has been around for 20,000 years. There have been occasions to witness it.” Cas pulls Dean along behind him into the crowd. 

Now that Cas is making him visible, he feels the brush and bump against other people. They watch him with barely-restrained suspicion. He can’t blame them. His t-shirt and jeans must look bizarre to them. 

“I should find something more appropriate to wear,” he comments. 

Cas looks behind him and smiles. “Better?” 

Dean looks down and huffs a laugh. “That is some crazy, scary magic, Cas.” 

***** 

They finally make it back to Cas’s room hours later. Dean had met and talked with the fascinating young artist; he’d even made him laugh with Cas’s help as interpreter. In the same room, he’d also met the Cardinal who commissioned his current project, and Giuliano de’ Medici, whose tomb the artist would later create. They ate, they drank, they flirted. 

His curiosity about the Renaissance sated for the moment, he becomes engrossed in Castiel again. All the way through the elegant villa, Dean can’t keep his hands to himself. Being invisible again to prying eyes makes him bold, and he maps out the plains and valleys of Castiel’s body as they walk. 

Behind closed doors, Castiel takes over. Crowding him into the wall, he licks into his mouth with ferocious intent. Dean moans at the welcome intrusion. When Cas breaks the kiss, Dean leans his head back to catch his breath. 

“You are so beautiful,” Cas praises. Dean feels a draft and looks down to see that they are both completely naked. 

“That is a neat trick.” 

“Don’t get too used to it,” Cas murmurs as he kisses down the column of Dean’s neck. 

Panic jolts him, and he goes rigid. Is this only a tryst for Castiel? Does he not feel the pull, the urgency, that Dean feels? 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas’s eyes are drugged by lust, lips red and slick. Dean wants him with a desperation he wouldn’t have thought possible. Before he gives in to it, though, he needs to know where he stands. 

“I, uh. I was under the impression that this was something that you wanted, potentially...long term.” Dean looks away, not willing to see what Cas’s eyes are showing him. “Am I mistaken?” 

“No, absolutely not, sweetheart.” 

Dean cuts his eyes to the side cautiously. Cas sighs and gives him a chaste kiss. “We need to talk before we get carried away again.” 

Dean swallows around a lump of dread and lets Cas guide him over to a sitting area; their clothes reappearing on the way. Keeping his hand firmly between both of his, Cas explains, “Dean, we are Par Animus.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It translates to soul bound, or a pair of hearts.” 

“Like soulmates?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Is that why all of this is happening?” 

Cas nods, but something is off. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

Cas leans down to kiss his palm, whether to stall or to bolster his resolve, Dean isn’t sure. 

“I don’t want to unduly influence you. I want you to be free to make up your own mind about me, about us, which is why I’m being selective with what I tell you.” 

Dean smiles then. “Cas, surely you can see that I’m invested. Do you know how hard I’ve had to work to come back to you? I’ve spent days digging through thousands of books just on the chance that I’d get to see you again. Tell me, please?” 

Cas gives a decisive nod and proceeds, “You were promised to me before modern man had yet evolved. I’ve waited millennia for you to be born, Dean.” 

That’s...unfathomable. Dean’s face registers shock. He can’t wrap his head around a century, let alone millennia. At least it answers the immortality question. 

“This is why I didn’t tell you at first. It’s too much.” 

“No, no. I’m fine. Just a little...” He zones out again, overwhelmed by his truth. 

Sliding to his knees in front of Dean, Cas promises, “Even so, it is your choice to make. You don’t have to go through this. You don’t have to choose this. Up to a point, you can go back to your old life.” 

That snaps him out of his reverie. “Wait, what?” 

Cas asks solemnly, “You’ve already felt yourself changing?” 

Dean furrows his brow. “The spark?” 

“Spark?” 

Dean rubs the spot at the back of his head where he feels the weird tether. “Yeah, like this mental connection. It appeared right after we met and it grows each time I see you. I feel emotions from it, mostly urging me to get back to you.” 

Cas quirks a grin. “Yes, that is a psychic bond that is beginning to grow. You will also eat less, sleep less, stop aging.” 

“Are you serious?” There is a hint of agitation to Dean’s voice now. “Am I becoming -” 

“Like me? Yes.” 

Cas gets up to pour a drink for Dean. When he brings it back, Dean looks up at him. “Do I need to decide right now if that’s what I want?” 

“There is time. The process will take months, if not years to be complete.” 

Dean drinks deeply from the glass. “Getting back to what originally freaked me out, why did you tell me not to get used to that getting naked trick?” 

“Because soon you will be able to travel with your physical form and I won't be able to do that for you any longer.” 

“I’ll be able to travel on my own?” 

“Eventually. If you choose to continue this relationship.” Dean couldn’t miss the heavy emphasis on the word, ‘If’. 

Dean’s head is pounding. There are simply too many new rabbit holes to consider and investigate as his understanding of the universe is upended and turned inside out. 

“Can we go back to kissing?” he asks with a heavy exhale. “I can't think anymore.” 

“Of course, Dean. Whatever you want.” 

Wordlessly, he gets up from his seat and moves in front of Cas’s armchair. The wide, high back is perfect for what he intends. Climbing into Cas’s lap and straddling him brings an unexpected sense of calm. He sighs in relief at the friction, wishing only for skin on skin contact. 

“I’ve never really connected with anyone intimately. Is that because of you?” Dean asks as he rocks his hips into his groin. Cas eyes him hungrily. 

“Yes, because you are mine.” 

Dean pulls his t-shirt off over his head and drops it on the floor. Taking Cas’s hands, he moves them to his chest. Cas takes suggestion well, and he explores all of Dean’s newly uncovered flesh. 

“What happened to being free to choose, Cas?” Dean chastises through a smile. “I’m getting mixed messages.” 

Cas grips his hip, yanking his body even tighter to him. “You are mine, but you are not a possession. If you don’t want this life, don’t want me, you can walk away, Dean.” 

Dean runs his tongue behind his teeth as he contemplates. “No, I don’t think I can. Why would I want to?” 

Cas pulls him down for a brutal kiss and then tips their heads together. “Don’t decide yet. Give it some time. Really think about this. This bond is forever, not until death do us part. Do you understand?” 

Dean nods and Cas kisses him again. This time, his lips and tongue carefully uncover the banked desire in them both, bringing it alive and fanning it to new heights. Dean feels consumed by his attentions. He’s burning for him, aching to be taken. The sensations are intense and raw, and Dean can’t conceive of having this with anyone else. 

“Cas, I want you. Please,” he murmurs against his lips. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Gods, yes, Dean.” 

Having his clothing disappear again is less of a surprise than a comfort. The velvet of Cas’s skin against his makes him whimper in pleasure. “You feel so good,” he praises as he rubs up against his chest and back down again. 

Cas gasps, his eyes falling shut to contain the feeling. His hand reaches for Dean’s cock with a barely there brush against the shaft that makes him shiver; then shifts to firm and expert strokes, making Dean pant and shake in his arms. 

“Do you want to move to the bed, sweetheart?” 

“No, no. Stay here. I don’t want to wait,” Dean protests. 

Cas grins. “We don’t have to wait.” 

Dean sucks in a breath when Cas pulls him up and rocks his hips forward to let his cock slide up Dean’s crease. Dean tenses and is about to stop Cas to explain the need for stretching, when he says, “I took care of it. You’re ready.” 

Their eyes lock, hearts beating furiously, but keep pace with one another as Cas breaches his body. Dean huffs out a shout of bliss. Cas fills every empty space inside him. He’s simultaneously burning him to cinders and cradling him as a cherished treasure. Looking down into his beautiful face, Dean feels peace, a rightness that settles into his bones. He’s ruined for anyone else. 

“Dean,” Cas says reverently. Dean nods. He knows. He feels it, too. 

When they move together, everything else falls away. Each thrust complements its counter, synchronized and perfect. An endless cycle of desire feeding desire leads them swiftly to the brink. 

“Cas, fuck. Too good. Perfect.” Dean babbles as their kiss breaks to breathe against each other’s skin. 

“Take your pleasure, Dean. I want to watch you.” Dean grips the back of the chair for leverage and lifts himself. Coming down hard, he circles and rolls his hips. 

“Oh shit,” he groans. “I’m going to come so hard. Cas, touch me, please.” 

With one hand gladly tending to his erection, Cas sucks and nips the skin of his chest. Dean moans and throws his head back as his fiery release engulfs him. As soon as he locks up, Cas grips his hips and fucks him through the waves of bliss. “Christ, that is gorgeous, Dean.” 

Fucked out and sated, Dean turns glassy eyes back to him. “Come for me, Cas,” he demands. Castiel obeys. Dean’s heart squeezes at how beautiful his immortal love is in the throes of orgasm. 

Sweaty and shaking, they entwine their bodies together and just feel. When he catches his breath, Dean mentions casually, “The spark, the connection is stronger now.” 

Cas rubs a thumb over the nape of his neck. “The more we connect, the stronger it will grow.” 

“Sexually?” 

“That’s just one way. There are many ways for us to bond.” 

Dean sighs and stretches. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. That was amazing.” 

Cas hums in agreement. “It was spectacular. I imagine that it will get even better as our psychic connection gets stronger.” 

“Don’t tease me, Cas.” 

“It’s not a tease; it’s a statement of fact.” 

They trade blissful kisses for what feels like an eternity. 

“How long can I stay?” 

“I don’t ever want you to leave, but I don’t know how your body is going to respond to being separated for so long. I don’t want you to push too hard, too quickly, and hurt yourself.” 

“I understand.” Dean looks away. “When can I see you again?” 

“Dean, I’m not asking you to leave. In fact, it kills me to think of letting you go.” 

“Is it really dangerous?” 

“I honestly don’t know. I only know of a few others who have found their Par Animus, and it isn’t something that they’ve openly discussed. Before today, we’ve only spent a few minutes in each other’s company. This time it has been hours.” 

“Okay, you’re right. We should be smart about this.” 

Cas nods solemnly, and Dean stands up, wobbly like a colt. Cas stands with him, furrowed brow conveying his distress. 

Dean kisses him gently. “It might be a while before I find another book to bring me to you. So, how about we make this trip really count?” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Take me to bed and wear me out before you send me on my way?” 

Cas grins. “It’s like you read my mind.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, comment, comment. My happiness depends on it.
> 
> [Also, come talk to me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	3. Kader gayrete âşiktir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean continues his pursuit of Cas throughout history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I almost doubled this story with this chapter. It is quite overflowing with important plot and sweet fluffy feelings. Oh, and angst. There's some of that as well. 
> 
> **Historical Notes:**
> 
> * Assume that the present year is 2002. It's the only way I could make everything work. If you want to pretend it's today, bring a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief.
> 
> * Greek culture: the **andron** is the "man's" room. Only men hung out in there. Pederasty is a social construct common in Ancient Greece. An older man would 'mentor' a youth in all things, including sex. It was seen as a healthy and important relationship, but ended when the younger man was old enough to marry. The younger partner was called the **eromenos.**
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

After hours in bed, alternately chasing pleasure and lying languidly in each other’s arms talking, Dean is forced to leave Cas in Renaissance Rome. Had the librarian banging on the glass window in the study room not startled him back to the present, he would have stayed longer. The library is closing, and he has no choice but to leave. Wistfully, he closes the book and heads out. 

This time the tether holding him to Castiel is wider and brighter, but no where near as desperate. Perhaps their bond can be satisfied. Right now, it’s a pleasant warmth reminding him that Cas is somewhere in time, waiting for Dean to find him. 

One thing Dean is sure of. Cas was right. Too many hours spent separated from his physical body have left him bone weary. Drooping eyelids and jaw-cracking yawns plague him until he reaches his apartment. He barely kicks off his boots before he falls into bed unconscious. 

His phone wakes him hours later. Without opening his eyes, he croaks a rough greeting into it. 

“Dean. You picked up.” 

“Yeah, Sammy. That’s the way phones work.” 

“You just don’t. Usually.” 

He’s about to deny it, but realizes that Sam is right. 

“So, the reason I called is that I was hoping we could do lunch instead of dinner today?” 

“Is it Thursday?” 

Sam’s put-upon sigh makes him realize that he needs to pull his shit together. Sitting up, he checks the time. Damn. Missing another day of classes and assignments will bury him. 

“How have you not failed out of your program yet?” 

He rubs his eyes and shuffles off to the bathroom as he explains, “These past couple of weeks are an anomaly. I’m normally a good student.” 

There is a rude noise on the other end, but no more commentary. “So, will lunch work?” 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s actually great. Let’s meet at the Union at 11:30?” He can shower and make it there with just enough time. He’ll actually be on campus for his afternoon classes, too. Shit. He makes a bargain with himself. He will beg for leniency from his professors, spend the next three days catching up, and will be much more responsible with his time from now on. 

As he scrubs his skin, he continues his pep talk. He will not destroy his academic career because of this insanity with Cas. He can’t. He’s worked too hard, and he’s too close to the end. Besides, that’s never been his way. He’s never lost himself in relationships; he’s too focused on his future career. This won’t be any different. 

He had his little honeymoon moment, getting caught up in the magic of the shiny new relationship. And that’s where he stops cold. His ‘shiny new’ relationship is literally magic. Okay, so maybe it is a little different. 

***** 

Dean actually beats Sam to the Greek place they frequent habitually, so he orders the usual falafel for him. He’ll admit that if he is forced to consider eating vegetables, falafel is not a bad option. But who in their right mind would choose that over the flavorful shaved lamb in his gyro? Sam, that’s who. 

When he was in Rome, Cas had convinced him to try a pretty impressive vegetable dish, an herb stew with crispy, toasted chickpeas. It was delicious, but it might be that he’s a little biased. Cas had begged him so sweetly to try a bite and even fed it to him by hand. He would have gladly eaten a spoonful of sewage to receive another of those adoring smiles. 

“Well, now I know why you’ve been so weird lately,” Sam snorts as he sits down. 

Dean’s cheeks pink up a little at being caught mooning over his boyfriend. Sam’s eyebrows hit his hairline in response. “Holy shit, Dean. You’re blushing? Who is this guy?” 

Dean tries to wave it off, but Sam is a Winchester, tenacious to the bone. Finally, he tells him just enough to satisfy his curiosity. “His name is Cas, but before you get all excited, it’s a long distance thing. It probably won’t last.” 

His stomach clenches at the thought like he’d just been dropped off a cliff. 

“How’d you meet?” Sam asks as he pours extra tzatziki sauce all over his pita. 

Dean really hadn’t thought this through. Sticking as close to the truth as possible he adds, “Uh, we share an interest in history.” 

“So, you met online?” 

“Sort of. He works as a research historian, and I connected with him while I was working on my project.” 

Sweat is breaking out on his brow, but he hasn’t actually said anything that isn’t true. Still, lies of omission can be just as destructive as outright lies. How can he possibly be honest about this, though? Sam already hadn’t believed him when he told him about their first encounter. There’s no way he would believe the full story. 

“You look happy, Dean. I’m glad you found someone you actually like.” 

Dean frowns. “What do you mean actually like?” 

Sam looks up from his food, crumbs covering his lips. Some things never change. “Every time I’ve ever seen you try to date, you seem miserable.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, remember Aaron?” Dean would rather not. That three date relationship was torturous. “Oh, what about that guy in your Western Civ. class back in high school?” 

“Gordon.” 

“Yeah, you hated him. I don’t know why you even tried to date. You fought all the time.” 

“Huh. I guess you’re right.” 

“So you don’t fight with Cas?” 

Dean gives him a genuine smile. “No. We’ve had some awkward conversations and some differences of opinion, but we resolve them well.” 

“You are so whipped,” Sam muses. 

“How am I whipped?” Dean scowls and takes a sip of his water. 

“You should see your face when you talk about him. Dead giveaway, dude.” 

Dean contemplates what he says while Sam scarfs down half of his sandwich. He knows that he doesn’t have good relationship history, but now that he knows about Cas, it makes sense. If he has a soul mate that he’s been promised to, why would he ever need or want to be with anyone else? Sam finally breaks the silence with a typical little brother annoyance. “He must be really hot if you’re this goofy over him.” 

Dean pelts him on the nose with a fry, but admits, “You’re not wrong. He’s gorgeous.” 

“Does anyone else know about him? Have you told dad?” 

Spine stiffening at the mention of their only remaining family, Dean snaps, “Why the hell would I bring him into anything good?” 

Sam holds his hands up. “Sorry, shit. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I just figured that if he’s important, you’d have told dad, that’s all.” 

“I didn’t mean to snap.” Dean blows out a rough exhale. “Have you talked to him lately?” 

Sam almost chokes on his Coke. “Not since I moved into the dorms.” 

Over the table, the brothers share a look of resolve, reminding themselves that no matter how shitty their past, they have each other. 

***** 

On Wednesday night, Dean sits at home working on a paper on his laptop. He doesn’t trust himself to go to the library to look up any of the information for the assignment. Instead, he’s relying on the online databases full of academic journals. It’s tedious, but it keeps him away from temptation. 

His kitchen table is cheap MDF covered with wood-grained laminate. It isn’t fooling anyone; especially since it’s peeling up on the corner. As his thumb catches on the imperfection, he remembers the last table he’d touched. His hands had slipped against the high gloss as Cas took him from behind. During the frantic coupling, Dean had gripped the far side of it for leverage. As Cas leaned over him, scattering kisses and whispers of praise, he noticed that the inner glow of the birds eye maple looked like sunshine seen through honey. 

Shaking the treasured thoughts away, he tries once again to keep working. His leg is bouncing, his thumbnail between his teeth. After this paper, he has about 100 pages of readings to do, notes to organize for an exam review, and a final lesson plan to write up for his lecture series which starts in less than two weeks. He promised himself that he wouldn’t go back to the library until his work was done. He’s worked almost around the clock for six days, and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold out. 

The connection to Cas that had been a soothing reminder when he returned from the Renaissance is now screaming at him. His concentration is shot, which pisses him off even more. He just wants to get through these assignments so he can go back. He fists his hands in his hair. Focus, dammit. 

He settles in for a few minutes, but when his fingers mistype the same word seven times in a row, he growls out his frustration and slams his hands down on the table. Okay, new tactic. He’s going to go take a shower and then come back refreshed and ready to finish. 

The hot water does feel amazing and helps unknot some of his problematic muscles. Rinsing the shampoo out of his hair makes him feel more human. His thoughts aren’t swayed, though. In his brain, there is only one channel, and it’s always Castiel. 

Giving in to the thoughts he’s denied for days, he lets the sound of Cas’s voice, the feel of his lips, wash over him. Unsurprisingly, his dick hardens as the images of them together surface and take over. Dean has discovered that there’s something to be said for immortal lovers. They know what they’re doing. Although thinking of Cas being with anyone else makes his stomach churn, he does appreciate the considerable skill he’s gained from the centuries of experience. 

Leaning into the shower wall, Dean takes himself in hand and strokes. Sighs fall from his lips even as frustration builds in their bond. A queasy wrongness crawls over him as it protests him not being with Castiel. He tries to push it aside, rationalize his need to take the edge off so he can finish his work. That’s the thing about soul bonds, though. You can’t reason with them. 

After several stops and starts that leave him irritated and hornier than ever, he abandons masturbation as a failed experiment. There’s a part of his brain that panics. What kind of hold does Cas have on him that he can’t even masturbate? Will he not be able to jerk off anymore? He breathes deep, adding this to the long list of things to talk over with Cas. 

He looks down at his traitorous dick, willing it into submission. He gets out of the shower and dries himself off gingerly to avoid re-awakening it. So much for being refreshed for work. If anything, he’s more jittery than he was before. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tries to think logically. He’s worked diligently for six days. As twitchy as he is, he’s not going to get any more done. It makes sense to go find Cas, right? Aware that his logic is highly flawed, he decides that he’s going with it anyway. 

***** 

Six floors full of books! Hundreds of thousands of them, and Dean can’t find the one that he needs. On the top floor of the library, in the farthest corner of the stacks, Dean can’t believe that he’s walked past every single book here without even a hint of vibration or spark. 

His lungs race to keep time with his adrenaline-laced pulse. He’s getting dizzy from hyperventilating. ‘Get control of yourself, Dean!’ his brain yells at his heart. Slumping down to the floor, head in hands, he calms himself. Okay. Think this through. He won’t even consider the thought that he can’t get back to Castiel. 

He’s made an incorrect assumption somewhere. Just like after the first book, he’d devoured the history section looking for another history book. Looking back, it seems obvious that almost any book could work. He’d just needed to expand his net. Okay, so maybe thinking that this library is the only place to find the book is also incorrect. If almost any book can be the catalyst, then he should be able to find it anywhere. 

A quick online search reveals that the university supports almost a dozen libraries including specialty archives. A hopeless feeling grips him, and his body crumples. Why is this so hard? Is he not meant to be with Cas? Are all these road blocks the universe’s way of warning him away? 

His search had also given him the hours of each location, so he knows that this building is the only one open 24 hours during the middle of the week. A glance at his phone lets him know that it’s only 4:13 am, which means that he has almost three hours to wait until he can get into the next one. 

By 5:13 am he is in front of the architecture building, and by 6:13 am his panic is returning. His hands are in his jeans pockets to hide the tremors that would make other students question his sobriety and their safety. He isn’t sure how he remembers the meditation exercises from his junior high P.E. unit on yoga, but he concentrates and is able to calm himself passably. 

As soon as the door opens, he exhales in relief. The vibrations are there. He has a way to get back; he just needs to find it. In a handful of minutes, the sound brings him to a book on the Parthenon. Dean smiles. He remembers Cas telling him about his time in Ancient Greece while they were in Rome together. Trying not to react too strangely when he picks up the book, he brings it to the librarian’s desk. 

“Do you have private study rooms?” he asks the student working there. 

“No, I’m sorry. Would you like to check it out?” 

Dean’s mouth drops open. He is the simplest of simpletons. How in holy hell had he forgotten that he can take library books home? Where he won’t be disturbed? He flashes her a charming grin to cover his idiot moment. “Uh, yeah. Sure. That would be great.” 

He rushes home, half-jogging, with the book in his backpack. He doesn’t trust himself to keep it in his hands. Even so, the music of it calls to him, begging him to open it. 

He’s proud of himself when he stops to use the restroom, drink a glass of water, and brush his teeth before he sits down on his bed with the shimmering book. Even better, he lays down while he flips through the pages. A sketch of the construction of the Parthenon calls to him. 

When he touches it, the twisting fall is much more severe than it ever has been before. If he’d been prepared for the intensity, he might have braced himself. As it is, he staggers when his feet hit the marbled floor and he collides with one of the towering columns. His disorientation on this trip is worse than usual, too. Leaning heavily into the column that caught his weight, he breathes through the dizzying nausea. 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is calling in alarm from a distance, but he hears the insistent slap of feet on the marble getting closer. 

And then, he’s enveloped in the arms that already feel so much like home. He sags into the embrace, emotion high as he breathes him in. He turns his head, feeling the coarse hair of Cas’s beard across his cheek. In every time that he’s traveled to, Cas has worn the clothing and hairstyle of the time, and this is no different. To almost all Greek men, beards were a sign of masculinity and adulthood. He pulls back to look at him. 

“I missed you,” he whispers with a tired smile. 

“I missed you, too.” Cas’s eyes are darting everywhere, taking in everything at once. “Are – are you okay? You look so tired, sweetheart.” 

Dean stands upright and brushes off Cas’s concern. “I’m fine. I’ve just been really busy, so I haven’t been sleeping much.” 

Cas cradles his face and barely brushes his lips across Dean’s. “What about eating? Have you been eating enough?” 

Dean sighs at his worried expression. “Some. Not like I used to.” 

“I knew to expect that, but it seems like it’s happening much quicker than I’d thought.” 

Dean leans in to take another kiss, which is infinitely more interesting to him than this mother hen line of questioning. Cas pulls away with concern, “Dean, that means that your decision might need to come sooner rather than later.” 

Dean tips their foreheads together and agrees. “Okay. Step up the decision-making process. Got it. But right now, I really need to be close to you. This bond of ours is a greedy, demanding bitch.” 

Cas nods curtly and takes his hand to guide him. Dean can see by his reaction that he feels the tremors there, but thankfully he holds his tongue. 

“Where are you staying?” Dean asks, awe in his voice as they wander through the town. He’s trying to take in every detail and keep up their conversation, but he knows he must be failing by the charmed smile on Cas’s face. He can’t help it, though. He is experiencing life almost 2500 years in the past. It’s enough to short out anyone’s brain. 

“The home of a very important statesman.” 

“That’s cryptic. You’re not going to tell me who?” 

“I’ll bet you can guess,” Cas challenges. Dean loves this playful side of Castiel. He’s only seen it when they are alone, which makes it all the sweeter. 

“Okay, I arrived during construction of the Parthenon, which isn’t close to complete yet. That puts the date somewhere in the mid-440's?” 

Cas nods and gestures toward the courtyard of a large villa. In the entry, a herm stands. Dean grins at the phallic statue. He can’t help but run his finger down the length. “Are you supposed to rub it for luck like Buddha’s belly?” 

“Hermes’s cock?” Cas laughs. “I think not. Unless you are hoping for fertility?” 

Dean pulls his hand back quickly, and enters the open air courtyard ahead of him. At his back, Cas murmurs, “But if you’re looking for a cock to rub, Dean, I can accommodate you.” 

Taking advantage of his closeness, he leans back into his body. “I’m counting on that, Cas.” 

He chuckles quietly and then asks, “So whose house are we in, love?” 

“It could be any one of dozens of choices.” 

There is a distinct sparkle in his eye as he turns Dean by the grip on his wrist. “Who jumps to mind? Who would be the key Athenian for me to influence?” 

“It depends on what idea you’re trying to influence.” Dean’s eyes catch on his, being dragged deeper into his gravity with every breath. 

“Democracy.” 

“Pericles, then.” 

The beautiful proud smile he receives makes Dean want to serve up all of the world’s knowledge to him as an offering. Once that wave of contentment washes over him and settles in his body, his answer registers. “Wait. This is his home? I’m in Pericles’s home? Holy shit.” 

Cas lifts his eyebrow and gestures for him to follow. He leads them to one of the bedrooms, and it strikes Dean how little has really changed in homes in two millennia. The thing that he’s the most thankful for is the door that Cas shuts behind them. 

“I should make you eat a meal and take a nap before I touch you,” Cas chastises. “And we’re definitely talking about how poorly you are taking care of yourself.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Cas is suddenly on him, lips silencing him as he’s walked back to the bed. Dean moans into his mouth instead. Before he lands on the low bed, his clothes are gone. Cas crawls over him, stalking up his body with a predatory look in his eye. “Christ, you are so distracting,” he admits. “I know we should talk, get to know each other, but I just can’t help myself.” 

He leans down to tongue the side of Dean’s neck, trailing open mouthed kisses up under his jaw. When he nips at the tendon, Dean huffs out another stuttered sound of pleasure. “We can talk after. I promise. I have a whole list.” 

Cas chuckles as he continues his assault on Dean’s skin. Dean feels the trail of fire wherever his mouth touches. His breathing speeds with every kiss, lick, and bite. Cas leans on one hand while the other awakens every nerve ending it passes in Dean’s chest and abdomen. His touch is electrifying. 

Dean knows the tremor in his hands is spreading, but his body is aching for contact, so he can’t keep them away. Gripping Cas’s arms firmly helps contain the fire, but desperation is sneaking up. “Please, Cas. It’s been so long.” 

“I’m here, Dean.” His calm, soothing words are having the opposite effect. 

“Cas,” he pleads and pulls him closer. Dean can’t get enough of him. He’s frantic as he weaves his legs between Cas’s, leans up to rub against his skin. He needs every part of Cas touching him. 

Cas extricates himself from the octopus-like grasp, shushing him sweetly. "Relax, Dean. Let me take care of you, love.” 

Taking one of his hands in his, Cas turns it over and kisses the palm. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen, Dean. Over thousands of years, I have met millions of people, and none of them can compare to you.” 

Placing Dean’s hand on his hip and urging him to explore, he brushes fingers through Dean’s hair. “The creator alone could have conceived of such perfection.” 

Cas spreads Dean’s legs wide so he is cradled between them. Dean gasps at the glancing touch of their groins. Feeling a now familiar tingle in his ass, Dean’s breathing speeds up again. Cas used his magic to open him up, which means he is close to getting what he wants, what he needs. Cas’s eyes remain on him, not letting him shy away from his gaze. 

With a subtle shift of his hips, Cas is pressed against him, asking for entrance. Dean splays fingers at the nape of his neck and pulls his head down for a kiss; his entire being, mind, and soul opening to Cas in acceptance. He groans at the wonderful breach, the depth and breadth of Cas invading his body. Cas fucks him slowly, murmuring words of appreciation and praise with every stroke. 

Dean tips his head back in bliss, mouth falling open on a sigh. Cas hums in approval, “That’s it, my beloved.” 

Little breathy sounds are punched out of him by the force of Cas’s hips. “Yes, Cas. Fuck. So good,” he moans. 

Cas drives into him to the hilt and holds there, rotating his hips to get that tiny bit deeper. “I want nothing more than to spend eternity making you feel this good.” 

The thought of eternity with this man leaves Dean awestruck. He can have this. He can have his sinful voice whispering in his ear as mountains are worn down to foothills. He can watch him smile as new stars are born and die. He can be the companion of someone whose kindness is limitless, whose immense wisdom is tempered with selfless compassion. He can be loved by the man he is already beginning to love, and it will never end. 

Overcome with emotion, Dean swallows hard and looks away. 

“Dean, look at me, please.” 

He can’t. Not yet. He needs a second to come to terms with the decision his heart has just made for him. He shakes his head minutely, but it is enough for Cas to recognize because he is watching Dean so closely. Immediately, Cas stops with a quiet curse and tries to pull out. 

Dean stops him with a frantic shout. “No!” 

Cas freezes as Dean finally makes eye contact. “Don’t. Please don’t stop. I need you, Cas. Please.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as Dean pulls his head down for a kiss. Dean tries to put all of his overflowing emotion into the kiss. The urgency of his need must convey, because Cas begins moving again, even while the kiss goes on. This time, Dean moves with him. His hips roll, his hands push and pull, his teeth nip. If he’s going to burst into flames, he wants Cas right there with him. 

Their bodies flush and sweat beads on them. Soon, the kiss breaks from their strenuous fucking. Dean contents himself with breathing in the exhales from Cas’s lungs. He wants every bit of him that he can have. 

“So perfect,” Cas moans as he looks down at Dean, his eyes filled with such desire and devotion. Seeing that adoration aimed at him almost breaks Dean again. His vision swims, and he blinks it back. 

“Cas...amazing,” he whispers, unable to string any other thoughts together. He can feel his release coming, feel his body clamp down on Cas’s cock as his strokes start to lose their rhythm. 

With a deep growl, Cas redoubles his efforts, shifting so that he can get a hand on Dean’s neglected cock. “Fuck, I can feel you, sweetheart.” 

Dean’s back bows as Cas takes him ruthlessly. His eyes roll back in bliss. Words are completely beyond him. 

“Come for me, Dean.” 

The command, sweet as it is, triggers his orgasm, and he lets out an agonized sound as his come pulses out onto his stomach in a convulsive stream. Cas barks out a curse seconds later and pumps his come deep into Dean’s body. There is something so primal and animalistic about letting him come inside his body. It’s something he’s never allowed with anyone else. Just one more piece of the puzzle that drops into place. 

When he feels Cas nuzzle the side of his head while their lungs are still heaving and their hearts are still pounding, he can’t contain his emotions any longer. A horrifying sob jerks out of him. Worse, more follow. Cas grips him tightly, tucking him into his chest as he slips out and onto his side. He coos and shushes Dean through the body wracking cries. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Dean tries valiantly to get control of himself. He is absolutely mortified. He’s never cried during sex before. Hell, before he met Cas, he could count the number of times he’s cried as an adult on one hand. 

“Dean, don’t be sorry. It’s a natural response to stress release. With how depleted you were when you arrived, I’m not surprised you’re reacting so strongly.” 

“I hate that you’re seeing me like this,” Dean puts some distance between them and scrubs his forearm over his eyes. 

Cas frowns. “How long has it been for you since Rome?” 

“A week.” 

“Were you experiencing discomfort before you left?” 

Dean snorts. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

“Then why didn’t you find me sooner?” 

Dean leans up on his elbow. “I was so far behind with my work. I needed that time to catch up. I can’t fail out of school in my last year of my Master’s degree.” 

“No, you can’t. But, Dean, you have to find a balance. The more you fight against your developing bond, the more it will take over and push you.” 

“So, what do you suggest?” 

“Don’t wait so long between visits.” 

“I didn’t want to wait; I just have responsibilities that I can’t get around. And it still sometimes takes me a day to find a book that will bring me to you.” 

“I know, my love. I would also suggest that you don’t pick a time period so far in the past. The farther back you go, the more energy it drains from you.” 

“What do you mean pick?” 

“You have more control over this process than you are exerting. Your thoughts and intentions can sway where you meet with me.” 

Dean’s mouth drops open in confusion. 

Cas smiles with his eyes. “What happened to you this week that had to do with Greece?” 

“Sam and I ate at a Greek restaurant. I told him about you.” 

Cas’s brows jump in surprise. “How did he take that?” 

Dean hedges, “Well, I couldn’t tell him exactly what was going on. I told him that we met online.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Online? On the internet?” 

Dean could see that the words were not registering with Cas at all. “How do you not know what the internet is?” 

“It’s obviously something very important in your present?” 

Dean nods emphatically. “Yeah, it revolutionized the world.” 

Cas bites his lip in concentration, a sure sign that he is trying to avoid telling Dean something that might influence him. 

“Spit it out, Cas.” 

“I’m not allowed in your timeline.” 

“Ever?” 

Cas is being cagey about his answer again. “If your bond with me completes, I will be allowed to visit freely.” 

“And if not?” Dean’s stomach turns at the thought. 

“Then I won’t.” 

“So you haven’t seen anything that happens after -” 

“January 23rd, 1979.” 

“Holy shit.” Dean runs a hand through his hair. Yet again, his mind is blown. Not only does Cas not understand the internet, he really doesn’t have knowledge of modern computers. Cas hasn’t lived through the ‘80’s, or any decade since. He hasn’t experienced any events from Dean’s entire life. 

“So if I don’t choose to bond with you, you will be forever stuck in the past?” 

The corners of his mouth turn down, and he can’t quite meet Dean’s eye. “Just while you’re alive.” 

The implication is clear. Without Castiel, Dean will age and die just like any other human. The thought obviously pains him greatly. 

Ever the nurturer, Dean brushes Cas’s hair off his forehead. “So I’ll get to show you around some history, too. Granted, it’s only a couple of decades compared to the entire rest of history, but I look forward to showing you the world that I grew up in.” 

Cas quirks a pained smile. “I thought we agreed that you were going to wait to make this decision?” 

“We did, we did. But you also told me that I needed to pick up the pace.” 

Cas rubs his hands over his eyes and groans. “It is impossible for me to stay neutral.” 

Dean smiles at Cas, the ancient immortal, who is somehow flummoxed by the warring needs to both give Dean freedom to choose his destiny and to take care of his par animus. 

“It’s refreshing to see that I’m not the only one so affected.” 

Cas pulls his hands away and furrows his brow. “What do you mean?” 

Dean tries to shrug it off, but Cas urges him to explain. Choosing his words carefully, he says, “This bond with you is a gift, but it takes so much work. It’s taxing to have part of your brain screaming at you all the time. It won’t even let me masturbate because it wants me to go to you.” 

Cas looks horrified by that thought. Good. He should be. Dean looks away to admit, “I just don’t see you struggling with it like I do.” 

Running his hand soothingly along Dean’s side, he says, “All of the difficulties you mentioned are temporary, Dean. They’re happening because the bond is not fully formed. I promise that it won’t always be this way. You don’t see me experiencing the same struggles because the bond on my side has been there since the beginning.” 

“So once the bond is complete-” 

“If,” Cas corrects. 

Dean sighs and restarts, “If the bond is complete, I’ll go back to normal?” 

“Well, your new normal. You are in the process of a transformation, Dean. You’re becoming an immortal. ” 

“Can you tell me what else I can expect?” Dean’s exhaustion is suddenly too hard to ignore. His words are interrupted by a huge yawn. 

“If you continue strengthening the bond between us, you will need to keep it fed at frequent, consistent, intervals. Other than that, you will experience the changes that I warned you about before.” 

“Eating and sleeping less?” 

“Yes, Dean. Speaking of sleep, you obviously need some.” 

“I don’t want to leave yet.” Dean’s blinks become longer and longer. 

“You don’t have to. Sleep, my love. I will keep you here with me.” 

As Dean sleeps, Cas takes the opportunity to study him. He allows only the most delicate of touches along the contours of his face. He truly is magnificent. Castiel has known this face from his earliest memory, but seeing him in person is exponentially better than his most vivid daydream. Watching emotion play across Dean’s face is a delight. Castiel is trying to do what’s right and let Dean choose, but if he’s honest, he can’t imagine not having this man by his side for the rest of his long life. 

He prays to the creator that he won’t have to go back to his solitary existence again. In the infinitesimal time that he has spent with Dean, he’s already become accustomed to having him by his side. As a companion, Dean is ideal. His wisdom exceeds his years, and he has an irreverent humor that keeps Castiel’s normal stoicism at bay. Dean is the perfect complement to him, and giving him up is unthinkable. Even so, he will respect Dean’s wishes. 

***** 

When Dean wakes, warm and relaxed against Cas’s chest, he feels completely recharged. In fact, sleep has probably never been so refreshing. They spend another hour talking, petting, and lazing around on the not very comfortable mattress stuffed with straw until Dean’s stomach growls loud enough to put Cas back into caretaker mode. 

He has one of the house slaves bring them a simple meal in the andron downstairs. Afterwards, they go to the bathhouse so Dean can experience it. He is unusually quiet throughout the meal and their short walk to the baths. Once they are undressed and soaking in the water, Cas asks what is on his mind. 

Careful to keep their conversation private, Dean leans in close to him. “I guess I’m confused about your mission here.” 

“What’s confusing you?” Having to keep himself in physical contact with Dean while they are in public is both a balm and a distraction. He laced their fingers together initially, and Dean amps up the contact by pressing their palms firmly together so their fingers can thread in and out of each other. Instead of a necessary meeting point between their bodies, he’s turning it into an intimate caress. 

“You are here to keep mankind on the right track ideologically, correct?” 

“Yes.” 

Dean meets his eye then, defiance and censure in them. “Then why aren’t you concerned about slavery here?” 

Of course that would be problematic for him. Dean understands more about history than most, obviously, but he can’t see the world on a cosmic scale. He’s too close to the issues. He’s too human. Cas smiles gently. He hopes that isn’t lost when – if – Dean becomes immortal. 

“Do you remember what we discussed back on Darwin’s ship?” 

“About all of the possible outcomes of an event?” 

“Yes, exactly. Our influence cannot make a man do something he isn’t inclined to do. Unfortunately, ending slavery won’t happen for centuries to come, no matter how hard I might try to sway them. In none of the thousands of possible outcomes of this time is it even a remote possibility.” 

Dean ducks his head, and speaks softly. “I understand. I’m embarrassed for humanity, and I want to scream at the injustice of it; but I understand.” 

Cas tugs him closer to kiss his temple. “You have such a beautiful heart, Dean.” 

Dean smirks and settles his free hand around Cas’s back. “You mean I'm naive and idealistic?” 

“No, not at all. You have experienced how certain problems have been fixed in the future. It is not naïve to want that progress to come faster.” 

Dean nuzzles into Cas’s bearded jaw. “You know that even in the present, slavery isn’t completely eradicated, right? As much as we want to consider ourselves civilized, basic decency sometimes eludes us.” 

Tilting his head to give Dean better access, he hums agreement and closes his eyes. Dean’s plush lips kiss the tender spot just under his jaw, where his pulse leaps to meet the touch. Kissing up to the hollow behind his ear, Dean whispers, “Even in the midst of this very serious conversation, I can’t stop wanting you. Is that something that will end when we are fully bonded?” 

“Fuck, I hope not.” Cas sighs. Turning his head to capture Dean’s lips, the heat between them flares. Incendiary lust spikes; their kisses become desperate. Cas loves the needy sounds that Dean exhales on every breath. 

“Castiel?” His host’s voice brings him back to reality. Reluctantly, he turns to speak to him and his companions. Even as he does, his grip tightens on Dean, letting him know that he wants him to stay exactly where he is. 

“Good evening, Pericles.” 

The man’s eyes roam over the two lovers locked in an intimate embrace, his curiosity obvious. “I did not realize that you had an eromenos. Where have you been hiding him?” 

Castiel shouldn’t push Dean’s bond any further, but it’s important to him that Dean understand and be able to speak to the people in this time and place. He forces knowledge of the Greek language through their fledgling connection. 

Dean winces at the uncomfortable burn in his mind. Then slowly, as if he’s tuning to a clear radio signal, the static of Greek that he doesn’t understand becomes words that he comprehends. It’s a disorienting feeling, and he’s glad again of Cas’s physical proximity. 

“Dean isn’t my eromenos. We are equals.” 

“But his beard-” 

“In my country, men do not always wear beards. It is not a sign of youth.” 

“Certainly you will release him and allow him to marry,” another man adds. 

Dean speaks up, his grasp of the language tenuous, but growing stronger. “Castiel is the only one that I will marry.” 

He shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at their scandalized expressions, but since he can’t do anything about the issue of accepted slavery, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to open their minds to men staying in committed relationships with each other. 

“This is legal?” 

“Our country is very progressive,” Cas explains. 

“But why would you choose this? You cannot have children.” 

“He is more important,” Dean admits. Their eyes meet, and the moment weighs heavily between them. He swallows hard and confesses, “I will always choose to be with him.” 

***** 

The conversation took a turn toward politics, and with the mood effectively ruined for them, they settled in for a companionable discussion. Even if the Athenian men were interesting and quite funny, Dean still considers public baths awkward and unsanitary. 

After a filling meal with their host family, Cas and Dean wander back to the Acropolis. As the sun sets and the stars begin to show, Dean is mesmerized. 

“I knew that I’d be able to see more stars without all of the light pollution, but this is spectacular.” 

Cas leans against a pillar and urges Dean to lay his head in his lap. Dean’s face is filled with awe as he stares up into the universe. Cas’s carries the same expression as he looks down at his beloved. Letting his fingers drift through Dean’s hair, he lets himself feel hope. Dean’s words to the other men reverberate in his mind. Dean said that he is the only one that he will marry, that he will always choose him. It sounded so much like a vow that his heart soared to hear them. 

“The heavens seem to be close enough to touch. I can’t be imagining this, right?” 

Cas chuckles. “Of course you aren’t imagining it.” 

Dean’s brow furrows with grave concern. This old worry hasn’t come up all day, but he can’t help but examine it now that it has. 

“What is it, love?” 

“What if I’m crazy, Cas?” 

Cas scoffs. “Why would you think that?” 

Dean sits up, leaning on his arm over Cas’s lap to keep them close. 

“What if I’m making all of this up? When I am here with you, I can taste your skin, taste the flavor of your mouth. I can smell the tang of sweat, feel your fingers hold me hard enough to bruise, but when I go back, nothing comes with me. Every time, I can’t help but doubt if any of it really happened.” 

“Oh, sweetheart. You aren’t crazy.” Cas puts his hand over Dean’s heart. “This is real.” 

Dean covers his hand and smiles. “Of course my delusion would say that.” 

Cas nibbles on his bottom lip and then inhales sharply. “There is something I can give you that will travel with you.” 

Dean’s eyes light up with interest. “Yeah?” 

“Yes, but I hadn’t intended to give it to you so soon.” 

“Okay...” Dean says, scrutinizing Cas’s hesitance. His gorgeous blue eyes are filled with vulnerability. 

He ducks his head and clears his throat before asking, “Did you mean what you told them tonight?” 

Dean tips his chin up with a finger. “Yes,” he pledges with sincerity. “I meant every word that I said and a multitude that I left unspoken.” 

Cas grasps his face with both hands and kisses him resolutely. Before their desire can escalate again, he pulls back and gives Dean the most insanely joyful smile. The intensity of it causes Dean’s heart to stutter in his chest. 

“I’ve had this since the 1400’s. A jeweler in Constantinople sold it to me right after the Ottoman Empire conquered the city. The ring and its inscription spoke to me, and I prayed that I would be able to give it to you one day,” Cas explains as he works the silver ring off of his middle finger. It is a beautiful woven band that Dean recognizes as a puzzle ring. The ones he’s seen before usually contain just a few bands, but this one is more intricate. 

When it comes off his finger, Dean sees that the indentation is deep, the strip of skin ghostly pale compared to his tan fingers. Is Cas really going to give him his ring? He’s nervous, excited, and confused all in one fell swoop. 

“There are 7 interwoven bands that can separate and create a mess of metal rings if you aren’t careful.” Cas turns it to show him the inscription inside the three center bands, but huffs a laugh at the darkness. “You’ll have to take my word for it, but it says, ‘Kader gayrete âşiktir’, which is an old Turkish saying. It means: destiny is in love with effort.” 

Cas takes his hand and Dean’s heart is racing now. “Will you wear it, Dean?” 

“Yes, of course. It would be my honor, Cas.” 

The silver slides over his right ring finger and settles in place. Dean loves that the metal is still warm from Cas’s skin. The thick band glitters in the moonlight. He feels the gravity of the moment, of Cas’s gift, but he needs clarification. 

“If we do marry one day, we’ll move it to your left hand,” Cas says as he rubs the ring fondly with his thumb. “It looks even better on you than I had imagined.” 

“It’s beautiful, Cas. Thank you.” The kiss that follows is sweet, their minds serene. 

As they continue their star gazing, Dean keeps looking back to admire the ring. It’s a work of art, but more importantly, Cas bought it for him over 600 years ago. It makes him feel cherished, necessary. He catches Cas looking at the ring, too. He seems incredibly pleased to see him wear it. 

Without warning, a brutal, intense pain stabs at the back of Dean’s skull, causing him to call out. He curls up on himself, both hands in his hair to try to block the agony. 

“Dean, what happened?” Cas’s voice is shaky as he wraps his arms around him. 

“Pain,” he manages through clenched teeth. “Fuck, it hurts.” 

“Where are you in the present?” 

“In my room at my apartment.” A pained groan accompanies his answer. 

“Could someone be there?” 

Dean takes a deep, trembling breath. “Yeah, yeah. It feels like something’s trying to pull me back, but I’m fighting it.” 

Cas kisses him quickly before asking incredulously, “Would someone want to hurt you?” 

Dean shakes his head, but the motion sets off another wave of pain. Breathing through it, he pleads with Cas, “I don’t want to leave. How can I stay?” 

“I don’t know, my love. I’m trying to hold you here, but something is working against me.” 

“Cas, please don’t let -” 

Dean falls, spins, and tumbles into a world of sensory overload. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. His stomach pitches and rolls with nausea. He’s cold and clammy, his lungs are burning, and he isn’t sure where he is. 

He feels a touch on his arm, which he instinctively bats away. He hears a voice, but can’t make out the words. He curls up in a ball, trembling and rocking. He focuses only on his breathing. In and out. In and out. 

Eventually, he recognizes the voice. It’s Sam. He tries to talk to him, but all that comes out is a rough groan. After a few more moments, Sam’s words begin to register. 

“No, I don’t think he’s on any drugs.” 

Dean lifts his head, blinking away the white noise. His head feels like an anvil, and it sinks back to his arms. 

“I don’t know. He missed dinner with me, so I came over to check on him. I found him completely comatose. He’s moving a little now, but he’s really out of it. Please, just send an ambulance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome!


	4. What is Your Emergency?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is getting real for Dean in the present, and others are noticing his strange behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, my lovely readers.
> 
> I have a plot-filled chapter for you today. There's smut, too. I mean, that's inevitable, right?
> 
> Enjoy!

Disoriented. Dean can’t put all of the sensory input currently battering his brain into categories that make sense. There are flashing lights and blinding fluorescents. His hand is pinched and aching. He’s being jostled around, but is being restrained from moving on his own. More than anything else, the urgent voices confuse him both because none of them are familiar and they aren’t speaking English as he understands it. 

“Sam?” he attempts, although something is covering his mouth and nose. 

“Dean?” Sam sounds absolutely terrified, which makes Dean work harder to piece together the puzzle. It isn’t until the movement stops and one of the walls opens that Dean finally realizes he’s in an ambulance. With that foundation in place, the rest of the picture becomes clear. He’s at a hospital. 

Struggling to pull the mask off his face and focus on Sam, he asks, “What’s going on?” 

“You were-” Sam looks like he’s about to cry. “You really scared me, Dean. You were completely out of it. You wouldn’t wake up.” 

Dean shakes his head, “No, I’m fine. I wanna go home.” 

The paramedic pushes him back down on the gurney when he tries to sit up. “Sir, you need to be checked out. If everything looks good, you can be on your way in an hour or two. Okay?” 

“No, I don’t need to be here.” 

“Sir, your brother was worried enough to call 911. Let’s give him some peace of mind.” 

Dean lays back with a sigh. It’s not fair to play the little brother card. 

After they run all the standard tests in the ER, Dean’s irritability is through the roof. They’ve left an automated blood pressure cuff on him that inflates every 15 minutes and pinches the tender underside of his arm. The IV in his hand pokes him every time he lifts it. The color of the fabric curtain is pissing him off. 

When they’ve been waiting on blood test results for over an hour, Sam volunteers to go find some food and hopefully someone with information. He isn’t gone more than a few minutes when the nurse comes in to check on Dean. 

“Sorry about the delay, hun. There were some errors in the lab work, so they had to re-run the blood tests.” 

“What kind of errors?” 

“Hormone levels in your thyroid were so low that there must have been a problem with the test. It’s fine. It happens every once in a while.” 

Little alarm bells are going off in Dean’s head. If he is transforming into something other than strictly human, what differences would the doctors see? Is this error really a lab problem or is it a sign of his changing body? 

“Either way, the doctor wants to admit you overnight for observation, just to be on the safe side. Is there anyone else you’d like us to contact? A significant other, maybe?” 

Dean smiles and shakes his head. “No, he doesn’t live around here.” 

She smiles sweetly at him and pats his leg before getting back to her exam. It’s the first time since Sam pulled him away from Greece that he’s been able to relax and think about Cas. He must be so worried. He can’t imagine what it would be like if Cas was suddenly ripped away from him like that. 

From there, his mind wanders back to their last few minutes before the pain began. What a spectacular view they’d had from the top of the Acropolis. When he remembers how pleased Cas was to give him the ring, a thrill runs down his spine. He looks down at his hand, and shock sets his heart racing. 

“Where’s my ring?” 

She looks at him in confusion. “The paramedics wouldn’t have taken it off. Are you sure you had it on?” 

No. This can’t be happening. 

He isn’t crazy. Cas is too real. There’s no way he’s made up this entire vivid world. Right? 

“Sir, are you okay?” 

Vaguely, Dean can hear an alarm on the heart monitor as his breathing turns erratic and he can’t catch his breath. He shakes his head, trying to make his doubts dissipate. 

“No, no, no. It’s not true,” Dean babbles brokenly. 

“Mr. Winchester, calm down, please.” The nurse touches his arm, and this time her touch sets him off. Shoving her away from him, Dean sits up and digs through the sheets and his clothes. 

“No! It can’t be gone!” he yells. In the process of digging, the BP cuff gets in his way, so he pulls it off and drops it on the floor. The nurse gives an exasperated sigh and picks it up. She watches his agitated search, not interfering until he swings his legs over to get out of bed. 

“Mr. Winchester, you have to stay in bed.” 

“It has to be here. I was wearing it. It can’t be gone. 

“I’ll help you find it if you lay back down.” 

“If it’s gone, then it didn’t exist. Then he doesn’t exist.” Dean’s voice is breaking, cracking on the fear that his words are true. 

“Dean, listen to me. You need to sit down and calm yourself. You’re going to hyperventilate.” 

Dean grips the railing on the bed, holding back both emotion and tears. “I can’t go back to before. I can’t live without him.” 

“No one’s asking you to do anything but breathe,” she says with a honeyed tone. 

Dean pants, his lungs and heart in a race to the finish. “I have to go to the library,” he declares. 

Starting toward the door, he is yanked back by the IV port in his hand. Without so much as a blink, he rips it out. The nurse alerts security and blocks the door. 

Dean finally makes eye contact with her. “Move.” 

“You’re not well, sir. We’re here to help.” 

Dean knows his skin is clammy with cold sweat, and the trembling in his knees is making it exceedingly difficult to walk. He isn’t staying, even if he has to crawl there. “There’s nothing you can do. I need to leave.” 

The little redhead puts steel in her spine and narrows her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere until the doctor clears you. Now, get back in that bed.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Good, that makes two of us.” 

Two burly guards arrive and they get a quick sketch of what’s going on. “Sir, you need to get back in bed like the nice nurse asked. I promise, man. Whatever is bothering you, we’ll help you fix it.” 

Dean can appreciate the false camaraderie as a tool to get what they want. He’s too far beyond caring about what they think about him for it to work. “I need to leave. Now. Just let me leave.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” 

Dean sizes them up, and without tipping his hand, he pushes into them with all his strength. Knocking one into the other, they topple like dominos. Jumping over them would have been easier if his legs were holding him up like they are supposed to. He lands sideways, careening into the wall. Taking exaggerated, wobbly steps and using the wall as a crutch, he locks onto the ER exit and moves as quickly as he can. He hears shouting behind him, but the noise just propels him towards his goal. 

The first hand on his arm makes him jerk away. The second makes him flail. By the time there are too many hands to identify, he is thrashing. Why won’t they let him go? Why are they stopping him? 

Shouting, some coming from his captors and some from him, breaks the peace of the large area, getting everyone’s attention. A crowd is forming, but the only thing that matters to Dean are the exit doors that keep opening and shutting in the distance, taunting him with their availability if he can just break free. 

In the next few seconds, they push and pull him down to the ground, and Dean screams for help. His body is immobilized with tremendous weight on his back and legs. He feels a sharp pinch in his bicep, and he knows exactly what they’ve done. His fight returns vigorously. 

“No, don’t drug me. Please. I can’t be here. I have to get to the library. I have to-” Fog fills his brains and clouds all of his senses. He tries to say more, but his tongue is thick and unresponsive. His vision tunnels and then goes black. 

***** 

Sam is there when he wakes, puffy red-rimmed eyes watching him. 

“Hey, Sam,” he slurs, the sedative still holding the reins on his muscle control. He’s glad he isn’t drooling, to be honest. 

“What happened, Dean? They said you went completely ballistic and it took four guys to get you to the ground while another sedated you.” 

Dean looks suitably embarrassed; the pink highlights in his face prove it. “I was just trying to leave.” 

Sam looks incredulous. “Why?” 

“Because I need to...” He trails off because he’s aware of how crazy it sounds. He’s starting to think that they might be right to keep him here. 

“You need to what, Dean?” 

He doesn’t want to see the look on Sam’s face when he realizes that Dean has lost his connection to reality. He doesn’t want to see the pity, the fear, and the pain. He comes up with the most reasonable sounding part of the incident. 

“I need to find my ring. I know I had it on when I was... Well, when I was at home.” 

“Then why didn’t you say that? I took your ring off while I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive.” 

Dean sits up altogether too fast. “You what?” 

Sam knits his brow. “Dude, it looked really old and expensive. I didn’t want it to get lost or stolen.” 

Dean’s huff of a laugh is joyful. The weight of insanity lifted off of him in one simple sentence. “No, no. I’m not mad, Sam. I’m relieved.” 

“Where’d you get that thing, anyway? I’ve never seen you wear it.” 

“Cas gave it to me.” His megawatt smile seems out of place in the situation, but he couldn’t be happier. After torturous weeks of wondering, he finally knows. He’s not crazy. Everything he’s experiencing is real. Cas is real. 

“So, you’ve met. I thought it was a long distance thing.” 

Cautious with his answer, he edits, “It is. He was in town.” 

“And he gave you an antique ring?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

Sam scoffs, “You said last week that you didn’t know if it would last, and now he’s given you a ring and you literally have heart eyes.” 

“Figuratively. Literally is-” 

“Yeah, I know what literally means. It was hyperbolic.” 

Dean smirks at him, “Well, well. They did teach you something at that shit school after all.” 

“Don’t be an asshole to misdirect me. What’s going on with you?” 

Dean bites his lip and shakes his head. “There are some things you just wouldn’t understand, Sam. I want to tell you everything, but you wouldn’t believe some of it. They’d lock me up.” 

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, you’ve already taken care of that with your psycho escape attempt.” 

Dean frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re on a 72 hour psych hold. They’re waiting for a room to be available upstairs.” 

His eyes go wide and his jaw drops. He can’t stay here for 72 hours. He’s already in a pretty weak state. He can feel the tether between them pulling, demanding his attention. In three days, he’ll be a wreck. 

“You’ve gotta get me out of here, Sam. I can’t stay here for three days.” 

His little brother shrugs. “It’s a law. There’s nothing I can do, Dean.” 

Dean is silent and still, seemingly studying Sam. 

“Can you bring me some clothes and a couple of books?” 

“What are you planning to do?” He’s right to be suspicious. Dean is going to get out of here one way or another. 

“Nothing. I just want some comforts of home.” 

Suspicious turns to skeptical. “I’ve never seen you back down that easily. You’re up to something.” 

Dean convinces him to go get his things, and he plots his escape while they’re waiting for a room. 

Upstairs in the loony bin, as Dean has dubbed it, he notes the layout of the floor and tries to determine any patterns to the flow of employees. The nurse’s station is on the other end of the hall, which would be good except that’s where both the stairs and elevators are located. Sam left hours ago to get some sleep, and in the meantime, he’s gathered precious little intel. The guards come and go at regular patterns, but the nurses and doctors flit about at random. 

He figures that night time is his target because there is so much less traffic in the late hours. Most of the patients are asleep, and they are running a skeleton crew. Sam brought him a duffel bag of his things, but the nurses are taking their sweet time going through it. Apparently, someone believes that shoe laces are incredibly dangerous and he can’t be trusted with them. He also can’t have Carmex lip balm because it’s addictive. Who the hell gets addicted to lip balm? 

As soon as the guard opens the door with his bag, he can feel the otherworldly vibrations from within. He schools his face into a pleasant smile; he doesn’t want to seem overanxious and set off anyone’s radar. 

When he’s finally left alone, it’s almost 10pm. He grabs his book, his portal back to Cas, and curls up with it. He keeps his back to the door so that he will appear to be asleep. His fingers flip through The Fall of Constantinople, searching for the tell-tale shimmers. He finds them surrounding a photo of the Hagia Sophia. Dean’s heart leaps. He’s always wanted to see the famous church. Excitement pulses through him as he touches the picture and feels the world drop away. 

When he opens his eyes, he isn’t where he expects to be. He’s in a living room, obviously Turkish in style and obviously not in his own time. Peering through the gauzy curtains, he does see the Hagia Sophia in the distance. Okay. He’s at least in the right city. He glances down to see that his clothes have changed. He’s dressed in period garb. Strange. Cas usually does that for him. 

“Cas?” Only silence responds. No one appears to be here. 

He performs a cursory search of the room, digging through the desk and the closet looking for clues. There are papers on the desk, but they are all written in a language he doesn’t know. He assumes it is Turkish. 

Outside, he hears voices talking, coming closer to where he stands. Shit. Who knows whose home he’s accidentally invaded. They might be none to happy with his presence. He instinctually hides in an alcove far away from the door. 

When the door opens, the voices are distinct enough to be heard, and Dean sighs in relief. One of the voices is Cas’s. He’d know it anywhere, even speaking a language so foreign to him. He still doesn’t know the other man. A quick, sharp sting of jealousy bites the back of his neck. He listens to the conversation, trying to make out anything that makes sense. 

The words are almost familiar. Like hearing someone speak underwater. You can almost make them out if you concentrate. Dean closes his eyes and listens intently. Their voices shift in his ears. He can make out the meanings of some of them, even though he’s certain they haven’t switched to a language he speaks. 

In the next sentences, he picks up the impression that the man is a church elder and that Cas is trying to convince him to move the sacred icons to another location. The following exchange shifts again, and he can understand them completely. 

“I do not believe the Ottoman army will attack the Hagia, Castiel. I don’t understand why you are so adamant about moving the icons.” 

“Why take the risk? Wouldn’t it be better to be safe than sorry?” 

“I don’t have the man power to complete such a task.” 

“Let me worry about that. I just want these priceless artifacts protected.” 

A pause lingers. Eventually, Cas sighs. I am tired, Zeki. I will gather my resources and bring them to you in the next day or two. Agreed?” 

As soon as the man is on the other side of the door, Cas calls out into the room. 

“Dean? Are you here?” 

Dean comes out of hiding and crosses the distance between them quickly. “Cas, I’m so sorry to leave you like that.” 

A relieved cry escapes Cas when Dean becomes visible. He gathers him into his arms, the embrace crushing. Dean returns it with equal fervor. They stay in the circle of each other’s arms for long moments that become eternity. Cas would be content with never having to let go of him. 

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart. I know it was outside of your control. Are you safe?” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Well, I’m safe in a way. I’m in a hospital.” 

Cas pulls away then, leaning back to scour Dean’s face. “Hospital? Why? What’s wrong, Dean?” 

Dean gestures to the couch and tugs Cas over to sit down with him. “Evidently the last trip was particularly rough on me. My brother, Sam, found me in my apartment. I wasn’t responsive to him, and he called 911.” 

“What is 911?” 

Dean quirks a smile. He forgot that Cas isn’t privy to anything post 1978. “It’s a unified phone number for all emergency services. It’s used all over the country.” 

Cas takes the briefest of moments to acknowledge the elegance and functionality of such a service before getting back to his beloved. 

“I knew that going back that far in history would be problematic, but I had no idea it would actually be dangerous. I swear to you, Dean, I would have sent you back immediately if I had known.” 

Dean shushes him and takes his lips in a sweet, adoring kiss. Dean’s mouth worships Castiel’s with his intention and his touch. He sighs at the electrifying connection between them. “I missed you, my love,” Dean confesses. 

With every breathy moan and tender touch, the heat between them increases. Cas wants to know everything that happened, but Dean is on another path that quickly overrides his best intentions. “I’ve never been more frustrated to be locked out of your timeline. I wanted to come to you. I needed to know that you were safe, but I was helpless.” 

“I’m okay. It’s not ideal, but I’m safe. I’ll explain later.” 

“We’re setting a bad precedent, Dean. We can’t always fall into bed when you come to me,” Cas chastises. 

Dean leers. “Why not?” 

Cas sputters his indignation, but lets go of all hesitation when Dean’s eyes go heavy and he leans in to suck a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. His groan reverberates through Cas’s own throat, pushing his breath out to mirror it. 

“Jesus, you taste so fucking good, Cas.” 

Cas feels his groin tighten as his brain liquifies. He knows it’s only been a couple of days, but he wants Dean with an intensity that he wouldn’t have believed possible a few short months ago. The more he gets to know the man, the more incendiary his touch becomes. 

Dean is dangerously beautiful. Michelangelo himself had admired his beauty when they met. Physical beauty is only one aspect of what makes him so irresistible to Castiel, though. His spirit is indomitable. He’s going through a metamorphosis that would terrify most men and yet he comes to Cas playful and needy. It’s humbling. 

The bruising kisses along his neck have captured his attention to the detriment of everything else. Which is why he barks out a shout of surprise when he lands on his back beneath Dean. The other man gives him a lop-sided grin and licks his lips. “Get rid of those clothes, Cas, or I’ll get rid of them for you.” 

The grin lifts into a full-fledged smile when the expanse of toned, tan skin appears under him. “Mmm. Delicious.” 

His mouth goes back to work, trailing wet worship down to Cas’s chest. He captures a pebbled nipple in his mouth, rolling it between his tongue and teeth. Cas’s back arches into the contact, a long moan offered as Dean’s reward. Using more pressure, he crosses the line between soft pleasure and a border line painful sting. “Yes, Dean. Your mouth is perfection.” 

“Would you like me to use it somewhere else?” he teases. 

“Everywhere. I want you all over me.” Cas sounds wrecked, and Dean’s only down to his chest. He’s going to be an incoherent lump of twitching flesh by the time he gets his cock in his mouth. That suits Dean just fine. Although, seeing Cas sprawled out beneath him is doing unexpected things to him. He really wants something that they’ve never talked about, and once the thought is in his head, it won’t let go. 

“Cas, have you ever let someone top you?” 

Evidently, the thought appeals to him, too. His eyes go wide and he starts nodding his head in abrupt agreement. 

“Oh, yes. Dean, please,” he gasps. Dean takes in the ethereal beauty in his arms, practically begging him to be fucked. Damn. Dean is overwhelmed and so grateful. He moves in tight to connect the rigid line of his cock against Cas’s bare ass. With a hint of his hips rocking forward, they both make pleased sounds. Dean takes a plundering kiss, and somewhere in the middle of it, he feels the draft of air from the open window on his skin. He’s glad that Cas’s trick still works on him. 

Bringing Cas’s right leg up, he drapes it over the crook of his elbow. Cas tightens the connection, his heel pushing in at his lower back. His right hand slides from Cas’s knee down to his inner thigh, effectively opening his pelvis and letting Dean in. 

Dean’s eyes don’t know where to land. He never wants to look away from Cas. He would willingly spend every remaining moment indirectly experiencing life reflected on Cas’s face. On the other hand, the embarrassment of riches laying open and vulnerable calls to him. 

“I’m ready, Dean.” The soft acceptance in his eyes keeps Dean pinned. 

“There’s so much I want to do for you, but I’m worried about time.” 

Cas grins. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore.” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Smartass. I meant right now. I might get pulled away and I really don’t want to be in the middle of something when it happens.” 

Cas reaches down to grab Dean’s shaft and angle it down to fit snugly against his hole. “I guess you’d better fuck me hard and fast then so we don’t get interrupted.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Dean blasphemes. His cock jerks at the soft give of muscle. Cas really is ready. Tearing his gaze away, he is mesmerized by the sight of where they are almost connected. “I didn’t realize how badly I wanted this.” 

Cas is charmed by his guileless honesty. Nothing Dean does is for show. He’s not performing, not trying to make Cas think he’s a sex god. He’s simply a man caught in a maelstrom of desire and emotion. Cas can see it plainly written on his face. “I want this, too. I want you inside me, Dean. Please.” 

Dean nods in agreement as his hips push. The wide head of his cock is insistent, pushing the under-stretched ring of muscle apart around it. Dean glances up to check on Cas. “You’re sure you’re ready for this? I’m not the longest dick out there, but I’m pretty thick.” 

“I’m well aware, Dean. I’ve sucked that fat cock many times.” 

Dean pushes the widest part through, and Cas’s greedy ass swallows the rest of the head. He tugs back gently to feel how Cas tightens around him. The pressure is exquisite and a groan is ripped from his slack mouth. 

Cas grinds down, taking more of him in. “I’ve fantasized about this, sweetheart. Many, many times.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You seemed perfectly happy being fucked. Why mess with what’s working?” 

“I really am, but this is fucking incredible, too.” Dean uses short strokes to inch his cock into him, but the power and grace of his thrusts steals Cas’s breath. His beloved is holding nothing back. His every emotion is on display. Cas has been fucked before, but he’s never been desired like this. 

“Cas,” he whispers when he is buried to the hilt inside of him. “I don’t ever want this to end.” 

“Mmm. I agree,” Cas purrs, running his hand down the plane of Dean’s flat stomach. “Move when you’re ready, my love.” When he withdraws, Cas’s eyes close in pleasure. 

Dean can’t look away. He disappears into the hot velvet clench of Cas’s body like it was made for him. In a way, he supposes that it was. After just a few more thrusts, Dean feels the urgency return. Cas has tossed one hand against the arm of the couch for stabilization, and Dean feels the need to test the strength of the furniture. 

Upping the pace, his hips slam into Cas’s thighs with force. He shifts their position so that Cas’s leg lifts higher onto his shoulder, which tips him up into the perfect position. Cas isn’t a talker, but he’s not quiet, either. In his cavern deep voice, he moans, he sighs, and he shouts his pleasure. Every filthy, sinful sound out of Cas’s mouth pushes Dean up into a higher altitude. Being with Cas in any way is delicious, but this is pure paradise. 

At the end of every thrust, Dean snaps his hips, trying to push Cas over the edge. His free hand runs up and down over Cas’s hip and then over to grasp his erection. Cas snatches his hand away and shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll come too fast.” 

Dean leans forward and kisses Cas with nipping teeth. “I’m getting close, Cas. This feels too good. I need to slow down.” 

“No, it’s fine. If you come first, I’ll fuck you after.” 

That is Dean’s new idea of heaven. He redoubles his efforts, setting a wicked rhythm that knocks the air out of Cas’s lungs and has Dean seeing stars. It’s not long before his balls tighten and he can feel that white-hot burn in his groin. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, Cas. I’m coming, baby.” 

Dean pulls out to see Cas’s hole gape at being left empty, and with just one stroke, his cock spurts out a creamy stripe just above it. He isn’t going to forgo the opportunity to come inside Cas, so he pushes back in as the next pulse releases more and more. Deep inside, he groans through the orgasm. He watches gravity pull his come down towards where he is still connected to Cas. Pulling out again, the pearly thick come trickles into the open hole. “That is gorgeous,” Dean groans. He uses the head of his cock to collect what remains and push it deep inside. 

Melting into the hard body beneath him, he gives Cas a long, fucked out kiss. Cas is patient and loving. He’s not rushing Dean through his glowing sated moment; he’s basking right along with him. Even so, he feels the wound up tension in his beloved. Dean kisses those plush, pink lips once more before giving him a mischievous smile. “Your turn.” 

Cas’s only regret in this scenario is that in order to fuck Dean, he can’t keep his cock where it is. The thick fullness he is delighting in has to end. He clenches his muscles once more, which sucks the breath right out of Dean’s lungs. “Fuck, baby. You could cut off my circulation with that ass.” 

When he pulls out, he turns around and goes down on all fours, crossing his forearms low on the arm of the couch. He looks over his shoulder and bounces his ass teasingly. “How do you want me?” 

Cas sits up on his knees and smacks Dean’s ass cheek sharply. “In every way, but for now? Exactly like that.” 

Dean goes rigid with surprise and then shivers. “Oh, you can keep doing that,” he says with lascivious intent. Dean’s pupils are already blown wide, but Cas feels his interest blossom like a drop of paint disseminating in water. 

“Another time. Hard and quick, remember?” 

Using what Dean calls his magic, Cas opens Dean up and wastes no time slipping inside the man he loves so intensely. Dean groans and pushes back. Cas grinds a figure eight to make space for himself, and then picks up the pace Dean had been using on him. “Your ass is spectacular, Dean. You strangle me and set me on fire at the same time.” 

Cas’s praise fills him with warmth. His long cock is splitting him, and he widens his stance to let him take even more. As much as he loved being inside Cas, the feeling of Cas at his back, taking his pleasure from his body is his reason for drawing breath. 

Cas wraps an arm around his chest and pulls him upright. Their bodies flush from shoulder to knee, Cas drives up into him mercilessly while kissing and nipping along his shoulders and neck. 

“Yes, Cas. Oh god, you’re perfect.” Dean praises Cas through panting breath while his hands roam over his thighs and the globes of his ass. Cas nudges his head to make him turn to face him. They give and take messy kisses through agonized sounds of need. Cas is holding him so tightly that Dean can tell that he’s barely hanging on. 

“Dean,” he moans right next his ear, his desire overwhelming him. His hips are stuttering out of that perfect pounding rhythm. 

Dean contracts his muscles, rolling his hips to help him create a longer stroke. “I just came. You’re still fucking me, and all I can think is that I want you. I’m desperate for every touch you give me. I’m so greedy for more, and I will still want you like this a hundred years from now.” 

Cas is trembling and then seizes up as he explodes inside of Dean with a shout. After the initial pulses subside, he groans in relief. “Fuck. That was amazing.” 

He releases his restrictive hold on Dean and peppers his skin with artless kisses. Cas tumbles back to sit on the couch and pulls Dean down with him. In the cradle of his hips, he leans his head back on Cas’s chest. They tangle their fingers together and breathe. 

Dean looks up at his sweaty face with enough tenderness to crack him open. Cas looks down on him with adoration. 

“I love you,” Dean says quietly enough not to break the gossamer threads of the moment. “I know it’s too soon, at least by modern standards, but it’s the truth. I’m deeply in love with you.” 

Cas kisses his forehead, emotion flickering across his features. “Then I am the luckiest man that has ever lived.” 

Running a finger down the sharp line of Dean’s jaw, he admits, “I love you, too. I’ve loved the idea of you since the beginning, but nothing prepared me for the reality of you, my love. You are so much more than I could have ever dreamed.” 

Their lips meet. It is an inevitability. 

Dean keeps him close with a hand cradled in his hair. Their bodies are pleasantly used and sore, their minds fuzzy with endorphins. When they finally separate, Cas sighs. 

“I hate to put my fist through the mood, Dean, but we need to talk about what’s happening to you in the present.” 

Dean groans but doesn’t outright refuse. He knows that Cas is right. He relays the key points of the past couple of days quickly. Cas hums and purses his lips through the recounting until he gets to the last part. 

“They have you in psychiatric care? Why?” 

Dean looks away sheepishly. “I skipped over that.” 

Cas gives him a stern look, and Dean confesses, “When the nurse asked me about my boyfriend, I looked down at my ring and it was gone.” 

Cas’s eyes go wide and he pulls Dean’s hand up. The ring is exactly where it is supposed to be. Dean smiles. “That was my reaction, too. Actually I freaked out and tried to leave the hospital. I’m sure I was ranting like a crazy person, because they weren’t about to let me leave.” 

“What did they do?” Cas’s voice is low and threatening like he’s never heard it. Pride and heat fills him to think of what Cas might do to protect him. 

“They tackled me in the hallway and sedated me. I’m only on a three day hold, so as long as I don’t do anything else that they consider ‘crazy’, they’ll let me go.” 

“It wasn’t until I woke up that my brother told me he took the ring off before the ambulance arrived.” 

Cas’s jaw is set, anger and frustration warring in his eyes. “Dean, please be careful. I know you’re under incredible stress, but when you are there, I can’t help you. I’m helpless and it terrifies me.” 

“I will do the best I can. I don’t want to stay there any longer than necessary because I think they’re already figuring out that I’m different.” 

“You said they did bloodwork?” 

Dean scowls and nods. “They re-ran the tests, but I’m pretty certain the oddities aren’t due to mistakes on their end.” 

“You’re probably right. Shit.” Cas runs a hand through his hair, scattering the strands in all directions. “I want try to do everything we can to finish our bond faster. I want this separation to be done so I’m not forced away from you and you can travel without needing other devices.” 

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Dean smirks. “I’m in limbo, stuck between two worlds, one of which knows nothing about the other one. Being incomplete sucks.” 

“You’re not incomplete, just in transition.” 

Dean isn’t going to argue semantics. “So what else can we do to speed this along?” 

“Spend as much time as we can together. Learn as much as we can.” 

Dean grins then. “My god, the horror!” 

Cas allows a chuckle and the mood lightens considerably. They talk about Cas’s mission in Constantinople, which is soon to become Istanbul once the Ottoman Empire arrives. 

Reluctantly, they decide to keep their visits frequent, but short. Not only will it be less of a strain on Dean, but there will be less likelihood of being discovered and interrupted. With a last long kiss, Dean retreats back to his bed in the hospital. He notices that it isn’t nearly as disorienting as usual, but the melancholy of leaving the warmth of Cas’s arms to lay in this sterile, vacant room is at the forefront of his mind.


	5. All the World's a Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's skills are developing. Maybe too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers. 
> 
> I broke this chapter into two for length, so we will have one additional one at the end. We're getting close, though!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Mr. Winchester, this is the third meal that you have refused to eat.” 

“Can you blame me? Have you ever eaten the food they serve here?” 

“The food is nutritious, and your body needs it to heal.” Dean shrugs and goes back to his reading. The other two books that Sam brought haven’t begun to hum or sparkle, so he’s doing something unique with them; he’s actually reading them. The textbook is left at the bottom of his bag. He might be fine, but he’s not such a diligent student that he’s going to do homework while he’s on a psych hold. 

The nurse crosses her arms over her chest and squints at him. “If you don’t eat before rounds this evening, the doctor will put in a feeding tube.” 

Dean looks up under his lashes. “I’ll just pull it out.” 

He drops his eyes back down immediately. He knows he’s being an asshole, but he doesn’t want or need to be here and he isn’t eating that shit they put on the tray, no matter what they threaten him with. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about eating whatever was put in front of him. Now? He doesn’t need the sustenance, so he’s only going to bother when it’s something that looks too good to refuse. 

“They could restrain you if you do that. Why don’t you just eat and avoid this battle?” 

Dean drops his book open on his lap and tilts his head in consideration. It’s such a Cas gesture, that his heart pings with the desire to see him. He will work on a way to visit once he gets the nurse off his back. 

“What if my brother brings me food and then someone can verify that I eat it. Will that work?” 

She bites her lip and exhales harshly. “If that’s what it takes? Fine.” 

Dean gives her a toothy grin. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll put my order in right now. I should have a full belly by 6 o’clock.” 

She rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room. 

He fires off a quick text to Sam and then goes out for a walk around the unit to investigate. In the common area, there are games and art supplies, but a serious shortage of books. There is a Stephen King novel, which, no thank you. That is not a vehicle he’s willing to jump into. The only other one is one of those teen vampire books. While he might be willing to have Cas bite him, and isn't that an intriguing thought, he’s fairly certain that this trashy romance is not going to be a useful find. He’s definitely not going to read it, either. 

Slowly, he walks the halls, listening intently for the mystical sound. As he wanders, he wonders if he had been responsible for making his book ‘turn on’ last night. It’s the first time he’s found a book outside the library that brought him to the past. Dean smiles. He remembers Cas telling him that he bought the ring in Constantinople. Is that why that book worked? Dean had that place and time in mind while wishing to be with Cas? Could it be that simple? 

In one of the patient’s rooms, he sees a book on the side table and she seems to be out. Peeking in, he reads the title. _Much Ado about Nothing_. There’s no way Cas missed Elizabethan England, right? He had to have been there. 

Closing his eyes and concentrating on Castiel, he puts every bit of longing he can into the thoughts. He visualizes himself in the Globe Theater watching a play. He adds in as many details as he can. The smell of the wood, the murmur of the crowd, the heat of so many bodies. 

There. The hum spins up from the faintest sound to a palpable vibration. Dean opens his eyes to the dancing starlight lining the small book. Looking around to be sure no one’s watching, he steps into the room and tucks the book between his scrub bottoms and his skin. He adjusts the disguise so that no corners show, and then makes his way back to his room with swift steps. 

Hearing the siren song begging him to open the book is torture, but he has to wait to be cleared first. He has to eat, see his doctor, and then convince everyone that he feels awful and just wants to sleep. But, the book. 

It’s like there is an electric circuit arching between it and the back of his brain. As the minutes wear on, Dean is fighting the urge, knowing that touching it now would ruin his time with Cas. He would have just a few minutes there with him instead of the hours that he craves. It’s the most painful study in delayed gratification that he can imagine. His breathing is ragged, he’s twitchy and restless. If he was looking into this room, he would swear he was looking at a junkie. 

Sam’s arrival has never been more timely. Dean’s welcome is so joyous and loud that it makes Sam jump. 

“What’s gotten into you? I was here yesterday, you freak.” 

Dean clears his throat and covers, “Well, yeah. But I’m stuck in this place alone and I haven’t eaten since before they admitted me. I’m starving.” 

Sam doesn’t look convinced, but he opens the bag of food he brought from Magnolia Café. The heavenly smells of garlic, spicy peppers, and salsa make Dean’s mouth water. 

“Oh, tell me you brought migas,” Dean prays. 

Sam gives him a lop-sided smile. “Of course. I even sprung for the ‘Love Migas’.” 

“You are a prince among men, Sam. I apologize for every mean thing I’ve ever thought, said, or done to you.” Dean rubs his hands together in glee. 

Sam snorts in laughter as Dean grabs for his box of food. Sam pulls a chair up and joins him while Dean quickly fills one of the tortillas with the delicious egg and veggie mixture. After the first bite, conversation is limited to a chorus of moans and grunts of appreciation. When they are finishing the first of the tacos, the doctor and nurse appear in the doorway. 

“Well, it appears that your appetite is back,” she teases. He feels guilty for his rude treatment earlier. 

“I think I was just stressed about being here. I’m sorry if I was an ass.” 

She waves it off humbly. ‘What a thankless job,’ he thinks. She probably gets shit on on a daily basis. He makes it a point to be nicer. 

Dr. Hardy approaches the bed and looks at his chart. “We’re going to let you get acclimated for the rest of today, but tomorrow you will be attending group and individual therapy sessions early in the morning.” 

“Is that necessary?” 

“Yes, we believe it is. The attending doctors in the ER were concerned enough to put you on a hold. They don’t do that unless you exhibit behavior that could potentially be dangerous to you or others.” 

Dean nods in defeat. 

“We did notice some abnormalities in your lab results that we’d like to go over with you.” 

“Can we do it later? I didn’t sleep last night and all of the stress is making me really tired.” Dean tries to sell his performance, letting his body slump, his eyes droop. He dials up the sincerity in his face. 

The doctor pats his ankle and concedes, “It will only take a minute and then we’ll be out of your hair.” 

That’s probably as good as he’s going to get. 

“Your metabolic rate is incredibly low. In fact, I’ve never seen such low levels of hormones in the thyroid of a man your age.” 

Dean feigns surprise. “Really? What does that mean?” 

“Well, it could be a symptom of several different problems, so we’d like to run more tests, including an MRI and a cat scan.” 

“Is this something dangerous?” Sam asks. Dean wishes he could tell him everything if for no other reason than to wipe that fear off of his face. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dean counters. 

“Well, hopefully,” the doctor begins. He stops short when he sees the glare pointed back at him. Dean gives a short shake of his head. He doesn’t want to go into the possibilities with his younger brother here. Especially because he knows that nothing is truly wrong. 

“We’ll let you boys finish your dinner.” 

The nurse gives him his schedule for the next day and promises to let him sleep without disturbance. 

He doesn’t want to kick Sam out, but he does subtly try to hurry him along. He yawns, he brushes his teeth. When Sam does leave, he feels a little shitty at how excited he is. It isn’t because he doesn’t want to spend time with him. It’s only because he knows he’s going to spend time with Cas in one of the historical periods that interests him the most. 

Turning off the lights and tucking himself in, he finally opens the book. Not for the first time, Dean is amazed that no one else can see the bright sparkles or hear the sounds the book gives off. He finds his window in the illustration of The Globe Theater in the appendix of the play. Since this book is technically stolen, he takes the extra precaution of laying his pillow over it before he slides his fingers onto the picture. 

Opening his eyes to the cloudy day, he takes in his surroundings. He’s on a typical London street from the late 1500’s. Rain looks plausible, but none of the scurrying people pay any attention to the weather. The muddy, rutted road is evidence that it rains often, and they can’t afford to stay in every time that it does. 

He catches his distorted reflection in a shop window. Excellent. He looks as authentic as he can be, at least on the outside. He’s sure that his accent won’t hold up, though, so he hopes that he finds Cas soon. In previous journeys, he’s been close by, so it stands to reason. 

While he waits, he wanders the streets, taking in the reality of what he’s read about his entire life. This era was the playground of his youth. Other kids might have sought after Arthur’s England, and the Knights of the Round Table, but Elizabeth I fascinated him. 

For her to take the throne after the spectacle her father, Henry VIII, made about having a male heir was brave. For her to keep the throne for 44 years, despite not marrying and being declared illegitimate, was impressive. What she proceeded to do for the country ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity. To date, she is considered one of the country’s most beloved rulers. 

Lost in his day-dreams, he’s nearly pulled off his feet when a hand grabs and tugs him bodily into an alley. Firm lips cover his with urgency and pleading. Dean tries to pull back until he sees the shock of coal-dark hair and sucks in a breath. In any time, Cas’s honeyed scent makes him hungry. With a playful growl, he leans into the kiss, wrapping his eager hands around Cas’s waist while his soulmate’s hands thread into his hair. 

When they separate for breath, there is a delight in Cas’s eyes that forces a chuckle up and out of his chest. 

“Well hello, darling,” Dean drawls. 

Cas purrs his own greeting back. “I missed you, my love.” 

“It’s only been a day.” 

“For you.” 

Cas grins at the gob smacked look on Dean’s face. “Time doesn’t travel the same way for you?” 

“Yes and no. It’s complicated. You are visiting places that I’ve been in the past, but obviously not when I was there originally. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known you yet when you came to Athens.” 

“Right, but I thought you were meeting me in these places in a parallel time line.” 

“Close, but not completely accurate.” 

Dean is about to ask some clarifying questions when Cas kisses him again. Dean is content with that as his answer. They get lost in the taste of each other, lips pressing, tongues dancing, sighs leaking as they breathe raggedly into each other’s mouths so they don’t need to part. 

“How long can you stay?” Cas asks, desire in his eyes and innuendo dripping from a voice rough with lust. The effect leaves Dean breathless and he has to blink away the awe several times before he answer. 

“I’m sleeping, so I should have six or seven hours.” 

“Perfect.” Cas grins with a hint of mischief. “I have a surprise for you before I have my way with you.” 

With that, Cas grips his hand and tugs him back to the street. Dodging in and around the crowd, he rushes ahead while trying to carry on a conversation. Dean is charmed by this manic energy that he’s never seen in Cas. 

“How do you have a surprise for me? You didn’t know I’d be here.” 

“It’s destiny, Dean. You brought us to the perfect moment.” 

“Are you going to tell me-” 

“You’ll see soon enough,” Cas interrupts. 

As they get closer and closer to the Globe Theater, Dean’s feeling overwhelmed. Considering some of the people he’s been fortunate enough to meet, he shouldn’t be surprised to be approaching Shakespeare’s theater. Well, the theater of Lord Chamberlain’s Men, the troupe that performed his plays. 

Cas raps at a side entrance; and when the door opens, he speaks quietly to the man who opened it. They are ushered in and guided through to the floor of the theater. Dean looks up to the stage and stops in his tracks. Actors are onstage in the midst of rehearsal. His mouth drops open as he watches them. He looks around the iconic building, taking in every detail he can manage. 

The significance of the moment, of this place and time, couldn’t be greater. Shakespeare wrote and had his plays performed here for live audiences. Some of the greatest examples of written artistry were created to be brought to life within these walls. 

“Cas,” he sighs. “This is...” He doesn’t have the words to describe the feeling of being here. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

Dean looks over to see the same awestruck look on Cas’s face. It’s one of the things he loves about Castiel. He has access to any and all moments of history. They are literally at his fingertips, and yet, he still gawks like a little kid meeting his hero. 

“Thank you for bringing me. This is so cool.” 

“Shall we get closer so we can listen in?” 

“Oh, hell yeah.” 

Dean has never been very artistic. He can sing and play guitar moderately well, but he never advanced past stick figures. In school, he did love drama, though. He was involved in his high school’s performances throughout his years there. He only took the lead a couple of times, but he knows if he had worked harder at it, he could have pursued it as a career. Watching the original Shakespearean actors is an unparalleled thrill. 

After a few moments, he leans over to Cas. “This is Much Ado about Nothing”. 

Cas smiles proudly. “Yes. They perform it for the first time in a few days.” 

Dean grins. “Whoa. I’ve read that play and seen it performed, and yet I’m standing in a world where none of that exists yet. It’s mind-blowing.” 

He looks over at Cas and bites his lip. “I must sound ridiculous to you.” 

“Not at all, Dean. It makes me proud to hear you appreciate this experience. This is my world and I want you to love it as much as I do.” 

“I really do.” Dean confirms with a kiss to his temple. 

From the stage, they hear the director curse a blue streak. Once he’s done, one of the other actors steps up. “I can read his lines until he gets here.” 

“Every day. He gets lazier by measures. You are in a scene with Verges, but I appreciate your willingness.” The director lets his shoulders sag on the sigh. “I will read the lines.” 

“But sir, you are needed elsewhere.” 

“I don’t have anyone else.” He spins, his arms outstretched to show the lack of suitable fill-ins. His eyes land on Dean and Castiel. “Unless either of you gentlemen would stand in for our errant Verges?” 

Cas sees the excitement light Dean up from within. “Go on, Dean. When will you ever have this chance again?” 

“They can see me without your touch?” 

Cas nods and gestures towards them. Dean raises his hand to accept the task. The entire troupe heralds him with a loud ‘huzzah’. 

Dean takes the stage with trembling hands, his knees loose. The director explains the scene to Dean as if he knows nothing of the play. Of course he does, because no one outside of the troupe and Shakespeare himself know anything about it yet. 

The part he is playing is a sycophantic deputy who follows the bumbling and self-important constable Dogberry like a lost lamb. They are the comic relief in the play, so Dean plays it accordingly. Cas is overjoyed to see how well he meshes with Dogberry, how his physical humor has the rest of the cast laughing. 

The longer Dean is on the stage, the more Castiel realizes that acting is something that Dean should pursue. He is a naturally gifted actor. At the end of the play, the other members of the troupe all praise him generously and welcome him back any time. The director even pleads with him to join the troupe. 

Leaving the stage is harder than he would have expected. Before he steps down, he stops and looks over the theater with a warmth pervading his soul. He is immensely honored to have been on this stage, where some of the world’s best actors will one day perform. Looking down, he sees Cas looking up at him dreamily. The blatant interest in his eyes makes Dean chuckle. This experience might have been a dream come true, but his true fantasy is being able to be with Castiel. 

“You were amazing,” Cas praises, eyes drowsy with desire. 

“Thank you, baby.” Dean steps into his personal bubble, using his height to loom over him. “Are you ready to show me more?” 

Cas licks his lips, a flirty smile lifting the corners as he walks by Dean. “Mmm. I’m ready to show you everything, love.” 

They wander in and out of shops on their way back to the inn where Cas is staying. He entertains Dean with stories of his time in Elizabethan London. 

“I’m afraid that at this point in time I was pretending to be a merchant in town to buy goods, so my lodgings are more humble than you’ve seen in other places.” 

Dean grins. “I’m sure it’s still better than my apartment at home.” 

“Do you have drunk neighbors, thin walls, and a drafty door?” 

“Um, yeah. Actually, that’s an apt description.” 

Cas shakes his head. “I suppose some things don’t change that much over the centuries.” 

“No, poor is poor whether it’s 16th century London or 21st century Texas.” 

Cas stops and studies him. “Do you have everything you need, Dean?” 

“Sure. I mean, I’m a college student. I’m supposed to be poor and struggling, right?” 

A pinched look settles on Cas’s face. “Struggling is not acceptable. I want you to be comfortable, Dean.” 

Dean runs his hands up and down Cas’s arms. “I promise that I’m fine, sweetheart. You don’t need to worry about me. Besides, I’ll be with you soon.” 

“Not soon enough,” Cas huffs. “I want you here already.” 

“Well, lets get bonding then,” Dean teases with a wink. 

***** 

The tavern room in the inn is half empty. It’s early and most of its frequenters are still working. Cas pulls Dean up the stairs to his rented room, ready to take advantage of their unexpected privacy. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but we need to be very quiet.” 

Dean shuts the door behind them. “I figured. This isn’t the most open-minded time for homosexuality.” 

Cas scowls. “No, it is not.” He takes one of the blankets off the bed and stuffs it in the large gap under the door. “And I do not want to have our time together ruined by an angry innkeeper or worse.” 

When he stands, Dean is already in his space, tipping their heads together. “I love you, Cas. If it’s best that we abstain while we’re here, that’s fine. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

Cas pulls him into a tight embrace. “It might be the smart choice, but I honestly don’t think I can keep my hands off of you.” 

Dean chuckles and teases him with a lascivious open-mouthed kiss at the hollow of his throat. Cas tips his head back to give him complete access to his most tender spaces. He wants to let out a rough moan, but presses his lips together instead. When Dean pulls his head back even farther by a tight grip in his hair, the sound escapes. 

“Shh. You have to be quiet, Cas,” Dean purrs in his ear. “Can you do that for me?” 

Cas nods and lets Dean lead him to the bed. Cas is naked in the space of a blink, but Dean is still clothed. Cas squints, but Dean’s clothes remain. They are both watching his body expectantly, until their eyes meet. 

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Dean says. 

“Inconvenient, too,” Cas agrees. “I don’t think you’ll be able to modify yourself yet.” 

“I’ve arrived dressed appropriately on my last two visits. It’s worth a shot. What do I do?” 

“Just think that you want to be naked.” 

A lopsided grin meets his eye. “Well, that’s a dangerous ability for me to have. I might end up a nudist.” 

Cas lays back on the bed, stretching his body out in a provocative display designed to entice. “I would be fine with that.” 

Dean gives it his best shot, but Cas is right. His bond hasn’t developed enough yet. Instead, he gives Cas a show. Climbing onto the low mattress, he knee-walks over Cas’s legs as he slowly pops each button of his shirt, a lingering pause in between. His eyes stay glued to Cas’s body, hunger burning in them. He parts the material of his shirt but leaves it on. 

Cas sits up to run his hands along the flat planes of his abdomen. Licking his lips, he brushes Dean’s hands out of the way so that he can take over working open his breeches. Cas’s nimble fingers get them open quickly, and they are just as quickly pushed over the perfect swell of his ass. Cas is already gripping his half erect cock before he can rid himself of the tangled fabric at his knees. 

Dean hisses at the sensation, and Cas tips a sultry grin up at him. “Now who needs to be quiet, my love?” 

Looking down, he watches Cas open his mouth to suck on the tip of him. A heavy exhale rushes out, but Dean remains otherwise silent. This is going to be exceedingly difficult. He’s had Cas’s mouth around him before, but he’s never had to keep any part of himself restricted while feeling it. 

“You might need to gag me,” Dean swears. 

“You’ll be good. I have faith.” The words are perfectly innocent, but the look on Cas’s face is anything but. Holy shit. The promise in his eyes is sin incarnate. When he tells Cas of his observation, he grins while his lips are still caressing the head of his cock. Cas confesses, “That’s only fair. You are my temptation.” 

Dean is strong enough to watch Cas lick the length of his shaft. He’s even able to take the hollowing of his cheeks as Cas sucks him with fervor. He’s breathing like a bull and drawing blood from where he’s biting his lip, but his voice remains suppressed. 

It isn’t until Cas pulls him forward with a demanding grip on his ass, his tongue caressing his sensitive frenulum, that Dean cracks. A whimper escapes his mouth when it drops open. 

Seeing himself disappear into the deep, molten cavern of Cas’s mouth, his pink lips spread wide around him, makes him ache. Such an obscene stretch. Fuck. It’s more than Dean can be expected to take. Eyes rolling up, he runs his fingers through the inky strands of hair as an anchor. 

It isn’t just the pleasure of it that makes him break. There is a reverence in Cas’s touch that cracks him open. In supplication, Cas prays with his hands and his mouth. 

When he comes, Dean doesn’t just see stars; there are galaxies exploding behind his eyes. Cas’s name is mouthed but not given voice. His prayer is left silent, but no less needful. 

When he comes back to earth, he lays Cas out on the bed, sweetly touching every part of him. Stroking his thighs, kissing and kneading the flesh, he whispers, “I could have sworn that I could feel your thoughts just now.” 

Cas tilts his head and searches his face. “Close your eyes. What am I thinking now?” 

“It’s fuzzy.” 

“Concentrate, sweetheart.” 

“You’re amazed by how fast the bond is growing. You love me.” Dean’s eyes spring open in alarm. “Wait. Am I right? I can understand your thoughts?” 

Cas traces the line of his jaw all the way to his temple. “Yes. Eventually, we’ll be able to fully communicate telepathically.” 

“Holy shit,” Dean laughs, delighted in the newly revealed gift. “Will we be able to do it when we’re not in the same time or place?” 

“Yes, but that will take time. Years, probably.” Dean nods, thinking through the possibilities. 

“Can you understand my thoughts and feelings?” 

Cas looks away, a blush staining his cheeks and heating his ears. “You little shit,” Dean accuses. “How long?” 

After not so subtly clearing his throat, Cas admits, “Since the day we met.” 

Dean huffs out his indignance. “So while I was falling all over myself in the cathedral, you knew what had me so flummoxed?” 

Cas bites his lip to hide his grin. “Well, to be honest, Dean, I hardly needed to read your thoughts. I knew what you were thinking just by the look on your face.” 

Dean narrows his gaze. “Is that right? I’m just that transparent, am I? I’ll bet you had a good laugh at the guy that was completely awestruck by you.” 

Cas leans up to capture his lips in a heated kiss. “I assure you, that was not my reaction. I was so relieved, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes soften immediately. A wicked smirk lifts his lips. “What am I thinking now, baby?” 

Cas focuses and utters a shocked gasp. “Dean!” he chides and smacks his arm. “We can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” Dean licks his lips with wolfish intent. 

“I’m fairly certain it’s illegal, for one.” 

Dean chuckles as he nuzzles into Cas’s neck. “It’s not illegal where I come from.” 

"I also don't think it's physically possible."

"Oh, it absolutely is. Let me show you."

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	6. It was the Best of Times; it was the Worst of Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's out of the hospital, but Sam is convinced that something is seriously wrong with his brother. The closer Dean gets to finishing his transition, the harder he has to work to keep both parts of his life from interfering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers.   
> It's getting close to the end, and the stakes are high for Dean and Cas.   
> I would apologize for the angst, but it's necessary. There will be a happy ending for our boys, you just might have to squint really hard to see it by the end of this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

After the remaining 48 hours of his psych hold, Dean has never appreciated a breeze more. Tipping his head up to feel it blow across his face, he can’t help but smile. He’s been cooped up in the sanitized and disinfected air of the hospital for too long. When he opens his eyes, Sam is giving him a confused side eye, but says nothing as he gets in the taxi. 

His little brother has a duffel bag with him because he is moving into Dean’s apartment temporarily. Even though the psychiatrist grudgingly agreed that Dean wasn’t suffering any obvious psychosis, his doctor was emphatic about Dean not living alone while they work to find answers to his medical issues. So, for the first time in years, Dean has a room mate. 

The awkward silence gets to be too much, so Dean feels the need to reassure his younger brother. “I really am fine, Sammy. The doctors are just being cautious.” 

The pursed lip look he receives in return is becoming more common on Sam’s face lately. “Dean, you heard what she said about the CT Scan. There are abnormalities in your brain and brain stem. Your thyroid is barely functioning. They’re not seeing cell regeneration in your blood.” 

Sam’s volatile voice becomes increasingly louder and more panicked as he speaks, until finally he’s shouting with a wobbling voice, “You are NOT fine, Dean.” 

Dean holds his hands up, placating his hysterical little brother. “Hey, hey, Sammy. It’s okay.” 

Sam’s beet red face explodes into wracking sobs and Dean pulls him into his arms. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you, Dean. You’re all I have left.” 

Dean’s heart breaks for Sam. He will never leave his brother behind, but it stings to know that Sam won’t be able to follow him through time. He knows that he’s transforming, that he will soon be able to claim immortality. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for his brother, nor can he tell Sam that. There are huge secrets between them now; immense and seemingly insurmountable. One day, he’ll be able to lay out all of the truths, but not yet. 

“I know that you don’t believe me, that you don’t feel I know what I’m talking about; but I promise you, Sam. I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“How can you possibly promise me that?” Sam looks almost offended by his cavalier attitude. “Something huge is going on with you, and you’re acting like you couldn’t care less about what the doctors are telling you.” 

Dean sighs. If he says more, he’ll end up in the hospital again. Sam isn’t ready to believe in what Dean has to tell him. Not without proof. Hell, he didn’t truly believe in what he was experiencing until his ring returned to the present with him, and he had a multitude of tangible proof. Since he can’t be honest, he lies with hopefulness. 

“I feel it, Sam. I know that I’m meant to be here. Please, just try to trust me.” 

***** 

When they enter his apartment, Dean immediately notices what’s missing. All of his bookshelves are empty. He stiffens and sets his jaw. How fucking dare Sam take his books away. 

“What is this?” His tone is deadly calm, spit through clenched teeth. 

Sam has the presence of mind to look chagrined and step out of Dean’s reach. “It was the doctor’s suggestion. After talking with us, and what happened while you were on the ward, he thought that removing what is triggering your stress would be a good idea. Not permanently. Just for now.” 

Dean narrows his gaze. “What do you mean, after what happened on the ward?” 

“You stole that patient’s book.” 

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. Shit. He did forget to put it back, but it wasn’t under his pillow the next day. How could he have forgotten about that? 

“Why would you do that, Dean? You’ve never stolen a thing in your life. I just don’t understand what’s going on with you.” 

Dean runs a hand over his jaw and sits heavily on the couch. How can he make Sam comfortable with him when, for all intents and purposes, he’s acting like a lunatic? 

“I was in a really dark place. I was alone in a locked ward, and I just needed something to comfort me.” 

Sam’s squinched up nose almost makes Dean laugh, but then he remembers that his sneaky brother stole all of his books. 

“And Shakespeare is what makes you comforted?” 

Dean shrugs. “It was a familiar story.” He gets up and wanders back to his room. All of his books are missing there, too. There isn’t a single book in the entire apartment, he finds. Not even a cookbook. Fuck. 

“Dean, just stay away from them for a few days. See how you do without them. Okay?” 

“Books aren’t what is stressing me out, Sam. Being without them is worse.” 

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, the international sign of ‘not listening to you anymore’. “Give it one week. If you don’t have any more concerning episodes, I’ll bring them all back.” 

Seven days? There’s no way he can do it. The time between necessary visits with Cas has been getting shorter and shorter as he evolves. Three days sounds awful, and five sounds like torture. There’s no way he can do what Sam is asking. His younger brother must see the distress in Dean’s eyes, and his response is obvious. “Are you seriously telling me that you can’t manage a week without books? That’s more concerning than the fact that I had to remove them in the first place.” 

Dean huffs out a humorless laugh. He’s being painted into a corner, and he hates it. He’ll agree to Sam’s condition, but he isn’t going to actually stay away from books. He has a dozen libraries to choose from, after all. 

“You have to promise me that you’ll stay off campus, too. You’re officially on medical leave from school, so you have no reason to be there.” The earnestness of Sam’s puppy dog eyes sends a pang to Dean’s heart. Dammit. He doesn’t want to lie to his brother, but he can tell by the set of his jaw and the determination in his eyes that Sam is not going to let Dean get around him. Finally, he sighs and nods his agreement. He’ll find a way without the libraries. He’ll have to. 

***** 

If Dean had thought he was acting like an addict in the hospital, he hadn’t seen anything yet. It’s been four days, and he’s apparently going through what can be compared to the worst kind of detox. Sweating like he’s running a marathon is just one particularly nasty side effect. The burgeoning connection to Cas won’t let any thought occupy his mind that doesn’t directly have to do with returning to him. 

He’s never truly understood desperation until this moment. He would probably be content living without a major limb if he could just get back to the love of his life. Their telepathic ability isn’t formed enough to pick up Cas’s words, but he feels worry radiating back at him from across their bond. He’s sure that if he’s feeling Cas, that his beloved is most definitely picking up some major distress from Dean. Multiple times a day, he tries to calm himself, settle enough to send something other than screaming pain towards Cas. 

Pacing through the apartment isn’t doing him any good. Since Sam is attending his afternoon classes, he decides to go for a walk for a distraction. A glance in the mirror startles him. His face is flush, his eyes are crazed. He pulls a ball cap down low on his head to cover as much of his face as he can before slamming the door behind him. 

After twitching and shaking his way through the neighborhood, he tries to focus on something other than the constant yearning. Instead, his traitorous brain fills with dozens of images of Cas. The beautiful lines of his neck that Dean loves to nuzzle into, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, his broad shoulders that Dean holds in an underhanded grip for leverage when they move together, the wide, firm muscles of his chest that he craves the taste of, the ridges of his defined abs that his fingers have traced for hours, the sharp cut of his hip bones that he has sucked bruises into more than once. Damn. 

Okay, he won’t fight the inevitable. He’s going to think about Cas no matter what he tries, so he decides to plan his next visit; give himself a productive use for his thoughts. There are so many eras that he could use. He drifts off in his plans until he notices where his feet have brought him. He’s in front of Sam’s dorm. 

Of course. Where else would Sam hide Dean’s books? Trying to look like he belongs there, he hovers just far enough away from the door to not be obviously waiting for someone to open it. When a couple of younger guys get close, he falls in step at the back of their group so he can catch the door behind them. Immediately, he turns toward the stairwell and takes the stairs two at a time. 

In front of Sam’s door, he looks around to ensure that he is alone before trying to jimmy it open. When a credit card and a pen don’t manage to trick the lock, he gets agitated to the point of despair. In a weak moment, he screams and kicks the lock. Shockingly, he manages to hit it just right, and the door breaks open. Breaks, as in splinters of wood fly at him from where he’s shattered part of the door. 

He worries about how he can possibly explain this destruction, but it evaporates once the door swings open enough for him to see a stack of cardboard boxes against the wall. Jackpot. His attention shifts to his bounty without any further concern for the security of the room. 

Dean grabs the top box and sits down on the floor with it. His panting breath is shuddering past his lips, feeble whimpers accompanying most exhales. His eyes are watery, making it difficult to get the box open without fumbling. 

Fed up with obstacles in his way, he rips the top open, effectively shredding the flimsy cardboard. He digs through the books until one strikes him. _A Tale of Two Cities._ Perfect. He knows from previous conversations that Cas was present during the French Revolution. 

It takes a few tries before he can concentrate deeply enough to reach through time and think about Cas and Paris in the late 1700’s. Finally, the connection catches and he hears the hum begin. Once the twinkling begins on the edges of the book, he breathes. His body is trembling, but he can smile in spite of it. Cas is close now. That calms him like nothing else can. 

The book contains several sketches, but it is the picture of a guillotine that is lit up and begging for him to touch it. 

When he tumbles forward into the past, he notices the roaring of a crowd before his eyes acclimate to the scene. Dozens of irate young men are marching through the streets with makeshift weapons in their hands and decades of oppression weighing on their shoulders. 

His fight or flight instincts are raising alarms, but Dean is too far gone to care. He’s fairly certain that if Castiel were to appear on the other side of a lava flow right now, Dean would crawl across it happily to get to him. The dissatisfied bond rubs his nerves raw and makes every sensory input torturous. Almost immediately, one of the young militant men notices Dean. He shouts vitriol at him, but Dean’s French isn’t fluent enough to keep up with the words that are obviously curses. He grabs Dean’s arm and tugs him violently to the center of the group. 

If he was in better shape, he could easily fight his way free of the waifish teen. Unfortunately, he is several days past fine, and he can barely keep his feet under him, let alone gain his freedom. Instead of feeling any real concern for this unexpected situation, all he can focus on is finding Cas. 

He closes his eyes and stretches his senses out beyond himself, seeking the gossamer tether to Cas’s mind. “Cas,” he prays. “Where are you? Please come find me. I’m hurting, and I need you so badly.” 

Dean is shoved up onto a raised area, a dais. The man holding him firmly by the wrist and shoulder is shaking him to emphasize whatever point he is making. Dean feels like he should be more concerned both that he’s in the midst of a feral mob, and that his newly gained language abilities are not resolving French words into something he can understand. 

His knees give out when he tries to turn around to see his captor. Dropping like a stone, he just barely manages to catch himself on his left hand. The crowd appears to think that his anemic fall was an escape attempt, and they surge forward with a battle cry. His clothes are ripped by vicious clawed hands, his body kicked repeatedly. He’s too weak to even curl up effectively. 

There is no reason for their violence against him. At least, no reason that he can understand. All he knows is that they are keeping him from finding Cas. His lip is split open, his eye swelling, but he manages to call out for his soul mate. He repeats the desperate plea numerous times, “Cas? I need you.” 

After his body goes numb from the abuse, a few of the French youth snatch him up from the ground and drag him along with them. His feet can’t bear his weight anymore, so he lets them trail behind him. He isn’t actually in a hurry to get where they are taking him anyway. He can’t imagine it’s going to be a good place. 

He huffs a pathetic laugh when he sees the metal door fitted with bars over the only opening. Looks like he was right. He tries to talk to them, but his mouth has taken so much damage, he can’t purse his lips enough to form some of the words. After only a few words, he remembers. They don’t understand him. 

It’s just as well. They seem to be happy enough with his silence, and he isn’t anxious to feel their ire again. They toss him inside the cell and slam the door. The crowd quiets as they move away, and finally, Dean is left in silence. There is not enough light to make out anything but shapes in the cell, so he shuffles around with his hands out. He finds a rancid straw pallet in the corner, and gingerly lowers himself onto it. 

The quiet that he’d been wanting since he arrived is now a curse. Straining to hear even the faintest evidence of another human, his ears practically throb. He can only breathe shallowly around his aching ribs. 

It takes an eternity for Cas to find him. He dozes off, close to slipping back into his own time before he hears the perfect timbre of Cas’s voice. 

“Dean, are you there?” 

He tries to hold back his sob of relief, but he’s not strong enough. “Cas,” he whimpers. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you hurt?” 

Dean struggles and flails to get to his feet. “The welcome wagon wasn’t exactly gentle, but I’ll be fine.” 

He comes into view in the small opening in the door, and Cas gasps in shock. “Oh, no! Dean. What happened?” 

Dean leans his head against the bars separating them and Cas immediately puts a soothing hand against his cheek. His eyes are roaming over every bruised and cut inch of his face. As he takes in the damage, his chin quivers and his eyes tear up. “What did they do to you, my beloved?” 

As is his custom, Dean tries to play it off with humor. “You should have seen the other guy.” 

Cas fixes him with a stern glare. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know why they grabbed me. I couldn’t understand them.” 

“You couldn’t?” 

Dean shakes his head ruefully. 

“French should be easy for you to translate by now. You were able to translate Turkish, which is a great deal different than English.” 

“Is that how it works?” Dean’s eyes are drowsy, his injuries taking their toll. 

Cas nods and tilts his chin up with both hands, looking intently. “Something is wrong. Some of your abilities are slipping.” 

Dean licks his lips. “It’s been too long. I couldn’t get back.” 

“How long?” 

“At least four days. Sam took my books and hid them.” 

Cas’s eyes go wide. “What? Why would he do that?” 

Dean’s lips lift in a sullen smile. “Doctor’s orders.” 

“Fuck,” Cas curses and closes his eyes. “I hate that I can’t be there.” 

“Wishing isn’t going to change anything. The rules are the rules, right?” 

With a deep sigh, Cas nods. “Are you safe there?” 

“For the time being. As long as I don’t do anything that they perceive as insane, I should be fine.” 

“Is that what you’re doing?” 

Dean looks away sheepishly. “I may have broken Sam’s door to get to my books.” 

Cas is frightened. Dean is so close to finishing his transition that keeping them apart is a spectacularly bad idea, but he also can’t let him stay in this place. He heard two of the young rebels speaking about a Marquis that they locked up. He can only assume that they mean Dean. He’s more than acquainted with what these peasants will do to any nobleman that falls into their clutches. He’s too fond of Dean’s head to see it separated from his body. 

“I need you to go back, Dean. It isn’t safe for you here.” 

The simple request animates Dean like a jolt of electricity. 

“No, Cas. I just got here. I haven’t been here long enough.” 

Cas shushes him, petting his hair and covering his hand that is clutching at the bars. “You’ll go back and find another book that will bring you to a safer time, and I will be there as soon as I can.” 

Dean is panting, eyes wild. “No, please. Don’t make me leave you.” 

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to be away from you, either, but this is a matter of life and death.” 

Dean thrusts his arm through the bars as far as it can go before the thickness of his muscle impedes the way. He grips the back of Cas’s neck, pulling him closer. “I can’t go yet.” 

Cas’s fear ramps up at the twitchy insistence on Dean’s face. Cas can hear the pain in his voice, can feel the agony in his clenched fingers. His beautiful face is covered in bruises that are still spreading, blood seeping into the damaged flesh. 

There is no right choice here. If he should try to keep Dean here, the rebellion will come for him. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue as Dean should be able to leave at any moment. However, some of his abilities aren’t functioning, and he can’t take the chance that he could be stuck here. If he sends Dean away to find an alternate place to meet, Cas is concerned that he won’t be strong enough to summon a way to get back. Horrible options, both of them. 

Cas continues to rub his thumb against Dean’s jaw as he thinks, falling deeper and deeper into the trance of being in physical contact with him. He can sense the agitation melt out of Dean’s body, too. Because he can’t hold back any longer, Cas tilts his head to fit between the bars, managing to just barely touch his lips to Dean’s. They strain towards each other to deepen the kiss, trying to mind the cuts and abrasions. 

Dean is flayed open by the electric connection, while simultaneously feeling a soothing balm wash over his charred nerves. It is dark in the cell, so the blue of Cas’s eyes is more like the infinite deep instead of the sky above, but having them focused on him right now is a treasured gift. 

“How much longer, Cas?” Dean asks quietly. 

With a sigh, he admits, “I don’t know, sweetheart. When you are through with your transition, I will know, but until then, we are both in the dark. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you when this pain will be over.” 

Dean takes another kiss, relishing in the sweet taste of Cas’s mouth. He lets himself be drugged by several more loving kisses interspersed with praise. He lets his beloved’s words drip over him like honey, saturating him with comfort and adoration. 

Cas applauds Dean’s bravery and resilience. He expresses how lucky he feels to have been chosen as Dean’s par animus. He compliments his exceptional beauty. 

“Billions of men have lived on this planet, and billions more will come after them. After meeting you, though, I can’t imagine having to settle for anyone else. You are utter perfection.” 

Dean smiles bashfully. “I’m pretty average, Cas. I hope you aren’t disappointed when you get to know me better.” 

“Never.” 

“I don’t know, baby. Perfection is a pretty high pedestal to fall from.” 

“You are my version of perfect, Dean. I just hope I will be worthy of all of these sacrifices you’re making. I honestly had no idea you would be in so much pain.” 

Dean stops teasing and levels earnest eyes to Cas. “Even if this pain never goes away, it will be worth it to have you in my life.” 

Cas flushes at the heartfelt promise. “It will end though, my love. Soon. And then our life together can really begin.” 

Dean is just about to kiss him when they both startle at the sounds of the rebel mob approaching again. Cas turns back to him, panic in his eyes. “You need to go back. Now, Dean.” 

Dean shakes his head in denial, refusing to see the danger that he is in. 

“Dean, if you don’t leave, they will kill you. You know this.” 

“No, Cas. Not yet. Please, baby.” Dean is becoming hysterical at the thought of leaving, which is exactly what Cas was afraid of. 

“Let go and go home before it’s too late.” 

“No, I can’t. Cas, please. Don’t make me do this.” Cas sucks in an agonized breath when a fat tear falls from Dean’s long lashes. 

“You have to, Dean. Right now.” 

Dean responds to his every plea with a litany of dissent. No, no, no. Cas’s heart is breaking to see him so distraught. He wants to rip the door off its hinges and carry him to safety. 

Trembling hands scramble for purchase on Cas’s body, but all he can reach is the hem of his coat. “Stay with me, Cas. Don’t leave me.” 

Cas closes his eyes, listening to the footsteps thunder down the hall. He can’t put it off any longer. Dean must read his resolve because his pleas turn to desperate babbling. 

Cas shushes him, but Dean keeps trying to change his mind. He’s grabbing for him relentlessly, promising all manner of impossibilities if only Cas will let him stay. 

“Your transition is advanced, and if they kill you here, you’ll die in the present. I refuse to take that chance. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Before Dean can really register that Cas is touching his forehead, he can feel himself falling back through time. His scream of denial continues long after he’s back in Sam’s dorm room, kneeling on the matted, discolored carpet. The pitiful wail dissolves into wracking sobs as his connection to Cas stretches across the centuries. 

“Why? Why would you do this to me, Cas?” he yells toward the book in his hands. Falling back on his butt, he draws his knees up and clutches the paperback to his chest. Rocking slightly, he continues speaking. “We could have gone together. You didn’t have to throw me back here. I don’t understand why I couldn’t stay. Why, Cas?” 

He stops the murmuring when he sees movement in the doorway. He looks up to see Sam standing in the frame of his battered door, eyes wide in terror and his mouth dropped open. Seeing his little brother should have sobered him from his emotional fit, but it has the opposite effect. 

“He made me leave, Sam,” he whimpers. “Cas pushed me away.” 

“Cas? Your online friend?” 

“He’s not a friend. He’s mine. I’m bound to him.” Tears continue to leak over his lashes as he struggles to catch his breath. 

“Bound to him?” Sam asks incredulously. “What the fuck, Dean? What have you gotten yourself into?” 

“Soul bonded. We’re soul mates.” 

“What does that have to do with the books? Why is my door broken, Dean?” 

“I had to get to him, Sam. You don’t understand. The longer we’re apart, the more it hurts.” 

Dean is hollowed out and numb. He sees Sam take a step away from him, hears him making a phone call, but all he is concerned with now is closing his eyes and making the pain stop. 

***** 

In the morning, Sam stuffs him into another cab. Normally, he would ask questions. Lots of probing questions. In the muted, flat light of dawn, he can’t be bothered. Let Sam take him wherever he wants. He isn’t going to fight. He doesn’t have the strength. 

He’s hardly surprised to find the cab stopping in front of the psychiatric facility. What does shock the shit out of him is the fact that John Winchester steps out the front door, obviously waiting for them to arrive. He hasn’t seen his father since the day he left for Austin to begin his academic career six years ago. Not to help him move, not for holidays, and not for graduation. It can’t be good that he’s here now. 

Dean stares in surprise until Sam opens the door. His brother’s hands try to help him out of the car, but he bats them away. When he stands, John’s face drops when he sees the state his oldest son is in. From what he gathered from Sam the night before, all of Dean’s injuries came back with him from the past. He’s battered, bruised, and as far as they’re concerned, batshit crazy. 

Seeing his father here puts some steel in his spine, and he’s no longer content to be led. This is not what is best for him, and he’ll be damned if he goes quietly. 

When Dean notices the guilt on John’s face, he does something that he’s never done before. He calls him on his bullshit. 

“This isn’t about you, asshole. You don’t get to show up ten years too late and put on a show for everyone.” 

“Dean,” his dad starts, but he’s quickly shut down by his son’s snarling words. 

“No, you don’t get to take credit or blame for how Sam and I turned out. You had no hand in raising us.” 

Dean turns accusatory eyes on his brother. “Why in the hell would you call him? What help can he possibly offer?” 

Sam blinks back tears and looks away as his chin wobbles under the strain of repressing his sharp emotions. 

“He can’t sign paperwork.” Never one for speaking more than absolutely necessary, John sums it all up in a handful of words. If Sam could be his legal caretaker, John wouldn’t be here. 

Dean’s attention snaps back to his father. “So, you can’t be bothered to celebrate my successes, but you’ll make the drive to lock me up? Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

Sam sniffs before getting his watery words out. “We’re not trying to hurt you. We just want to help.” 

Dean pulls out of his grasp and staggers until he lands heavily against a column. When the world stops spinning, he continues his pathetic tirade. “I don’t want your help. I’m an adult and without a court order, you can’t commit me.” 

“Dean, look at yourself. Even if you weren’t having medical problems, you haven’t been yourself in weeks. Your obsession with books is unhealthy. You’re stealing them and talking to them. You broke into my dorm room to get to them, and then I find you completely battered and screaming at a novel.” 

Sam is shaking his head in disbelief and John won’t meet his eye. “You’re not well, and I only want to help you.” 

Dean can understand where Sam is coming from. If their positions were reversed, he’s fairly certain that he wouldn’t have let him out of the hospital the first time. But just because he can empathize, doesn’t mean he’s ready to roll over and let them do something drastic that isn’t actually necessary. 

“I know it looks bad, but you’re going to have to trust me. This is just a temporary thing. I’ll be fine soon.” 

It might have been more convincing if his knees hadn’t given out on him in the middle of his pep talk. He notices that his family members are slowly getting closer to him, subtly trying to close the gap without him being the wiser. Thankfully, his brain isn’t as impeded as they seem to believe. He holds a hand out, warning them to stay back. 

“I want to go back to my apartment and rest. How about we all go out to dinner tonight and I can explain everything?” 

“Why don’t we go in and talk to the doctor? Then you can lay down and take a good nap.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, who has all of the finesse of a sledgehammer. “I don’t think so.” 

John huffs out a sigh. “Son, you’re going in whether you like it or not, so why not make it easier on everyone.” 

“Sorry to put you out, but you’re not getting me in there without a fight.” 

“So be it,” John growls and walks back inside the building. 

Sam wipes his hands over his face and then crams them into the pockets of his jeans. “Dean, don’t fight it. Dad is bringing you here on a 5250 hold. They can legally hold you for 14 additional days after the 72 hour hold if they feel you’re still a danger to yourself or others.” 

“Do you really think I’m a danger to other people?” 

“No, Dean. But I do think that you’re a danger to yourself right now. Have you looked in a mirror? Your face is beat to shit. Who did you get into a fight with in the couple hours that I left you alone?” 

Dean scoffs. “You wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Try me.” The pleading in his big, brown puppy eyes breaks down Dean’s barriers. He might as well be honest. He doubts that it will change the outcome, but it will do him a world of good to stop lying to Sam. He nods in agreement and begins his story. 

“I told you about Cas before.” 

Sam straightens and interrupts, “He did this to you?” 

“No, no. He would never hurt me. This involves him, though.” He makes eye contact with his little brother, begging for him to understand. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but it’s the truth.” 

Sam nods for him to continue. He takes a deep breath and steps off the ledge. 

“Cas can travel through time, and I’ve been visiting him through certain books.” 

Sam takes a step back away from him and his brow furrows, but he doesn’t say a word. 

“That’s all my obsession with books is, they are a vehicle for me to go back to certain places and be with him.” 

“Dean,” Sam pleads. “This is insane. You know that time travel doesn’t exist.” 

“For some people it does. All of the health problems I’m having? All of this is related.” 

“Okay, why are you getting sick?” 

“I told you that I’m supposed to be with Cas, that we’re soul bound. I’m changing so that I can be what he is.” 

“Which is what?” Sam’s face isn’t showing any emotion, but he’s asking questions. Dean prays that is a good sign. 

“He’s immortal. His purpose is to influence certain events in human history.” 

“So, you’re immortal now?” Okay, some skepticism snuck into that question. 

“Not yet. Our bond isn’t fully developed yet.” 

“You realize that this is the most bizarre story I’ve ever heard, right? Like, I’ve read fantasy books with more believable plots.” 

“That actually helps prove my point. I’m not creative enough to come up with something like this.” 

Sam bites his lip as he is considering. Dean allows a little trickle of hope to seep into his heart as he waits. Having his brother on his side is necessary. Having to lie to him for months has never felt right, and he’s relieved to reveal the truth. 

Before he can speak, John returns with a couple of burly orderlies. All three of their faces relay that they aren’t there to discuss whether or not Dean is going to come with them. They are there to take him. He stands straighter and slides his eyes to his brother. Instead of the camaraderie he hopes for, he sees guilt. Fuck. 

“Sam, c’mon. Don’t you believe me?” 

His brother hangs his head. “No, Dean. I’m sorry, but I don’t.” 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are my life blood.


	7. We've Earned our Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has help getting out of the terrible situation his family has put him in. It looks like good things are in store for our boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers.  
> This is indeed the last chapter of this story. I can't believe it's finally here. I am hesitant to leave this universe. I have grown attached to the magic and intense devotion. 
> 
> Perhaps I'll add time stamps later. I have so many ideas for their centuries full of adventure.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this story even half as much as I've enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> I'd love to hear from you before you move on to another world.

Every time Dean cracks his eyes open; he immediately wants to slip back into his hallucinogenic dreams. They might be incomprehensible nightmares courtesy of the mind-warping drugs they have him on, but they’re infinitely better than his reality. 

He isn’t sure how long he’s been here, how long his freedom has been revoked. The physical symptoms of being separated from Castiel are worse than ever before, and the doctors have definitely noticed. With every new and worsening symptom, they up the dosage of medication. Even in his Thorazine-like haze, he can understand how ridiculous their plan is. Doesn’t the old saying go, ‘The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.’? And he’s the one who’s locked up. 

They believe he’s being uncooperative by not eating, when really, he just doesn’t need food. They accuse him of being hostile because he refuses to speak, so they treat him with sharp tongues and rough hands. In reality, his silence is his only defense. If he opens his mouth to answer them, the weeping despair will escape, and he’s not sure it would ever stop. 

His doctors all approach him with the same pursed lips that remind him of a pack of tight sphincters. He allows his lips to lift in a dim smile, however fleeting. 

“Something amusing, Mr. Winchester?” 

His face returns to stone and he looks out the window. 

“If you cooperate with us, eat a little bit and try to communicate, you will get out of here much quicker.” 

Dean is over their bribes. Nothing they have to offer is worth anything to him. They don’t allow books anywhere on the floor unless they’re locked in the nurses’ station. He can’t even have visitors. Not that he wants to see anyone anyway. 

Whenever he thinks about Sam aligning with their worthless drunk of a father to put him in this place, his fury knows no bounds. It will be a long time, if ever, before he can forgive, let alone forget. 

He can feel Cas responding to his pain across their bond, and despite his best efforts, he can’t shut it off. He’s listless and unresponsive. Closing his eyes again, he prays for salvation. 

When it comes, it’s messenger is completely unexpected. 

A teen-aged girl with badly dyed black hair sneaks into his room long after lights out. She looks frail, but she’s good with a lock, he’ll give her that. Creeping over to his bed, she quirks an uncomfortable smile before placing a frayed paperback on his chest. 

“I’m supposed to make sure that you get this.” 

Dean attempts to ask her a question, but he’s gone so long without speaking that his throat is Death Valley dry. He clears it and attempts it again. “Who sent you?” 

She looks off in the distance, her voice taking on an ephemeral lilt. “It was a voice in my dreams. She told me that her friend needed you. She was so beautiful. Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Dean puts a hand over the book for comfort and placates her with the words she wants to hear. “I’m sure she will.” He adds quietly, “Thank you. You’ve saved my life.” 

With a lightning quick grin, she skips out of the room on soundless feet. 

Dean sits up with effort and looks at the book in his hand. The Beautiful and Damned isn’t Fitzgerald’s most famous novel, but Dean’s aware of it. He knows that it takes place in New York during the Roaring ‘20’s. He has to admit that he’s more than a little relieved after his last visit. No more guillotines - only lavish parties, free-flowing booze, and jazz music. 

He concentrates with his entire being and feels a spark of surprise and relief come back from the bond. Even though he forces more and more energy into the book to make it light up, it remains lifeless. 

No. He’s so close. He can’t be too weak now to actually make this trip. Minutes go by, and still the book is silent. Panic releases its toxic chemicals into his bloodstream. All he can hope is that they give him the energy he needs to pull this off. 

Sweat drips from his brow, his body trembles from the exertion. “Please, please, please bring me back to him,” he whispers. He refuses to fail now. Leaning his head to the book, he tries once again. When one of his tears slips the edge of his eye and splashes onto the cover, the book jerks to life. A hum louder than he ever remembers hearing buzzes through his body while his eyes are dappled by the glittering lights. 

He’s done this a dozen times before, but this time feels unique somehow, so he takes a moment to consider the magic of it. He has the ability to create portals to specific times and places in the past using nothing more than a book and his own will. 

Opening the book quickly, he thumbs through the pages to find the image that will take him to Cas. He finds it in the center of the book, nestled in a glossy page of photos. It’s a party scene, filled with elegantly dressed socialites. He grins. Maybe he’ll be able to see Cas in a tux. 

His trip is smoother than it’s ever been. Between one moment and the next, he is in the midst of the party from the picture. Vibrant energy pulses at him from every body in the room. Dancers swirl chaotically around him, encouraging him to join in. The fringed dresses swing with a mesmerizing swish. He grins at them; his heart light for the first time in recent memory. 

As a waiter in a white coat passes, he offers a glass to Dean. Once he wanders away, Dean surreptitiously looks down at himself. Huh. His tux appears to be tailored and of the finest quality. The black fabric is deep enough to swallow light. Sipping the effervescent champagne, he wanders through the crowd looking for the only man that matters. 

A few steps from the bar, Cas turns and catches Dean’s eye. Joy flares bright between them. Drawn to Cas inexorably, Dean sets the glass aside to leave his arms open. As soon as they’re close enough, they fall into each other’s arms and Dean lifts him off his feet. Infectious laughter envelops them both as they greet each other with relief. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says warmly, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. 

“Cas,” Dean sighs, wanting to melt into him. “I have never been happier to see anyone in my life.” 

Cas leans back to take him in. “You look so much better than last time, Dean. I’m so glad.” 

Their eyes meet and Cas looks away guiltily. “Can you forgive me for sending you away?” 

Tilting their heads together, Dean assures him, “It’s already forgotten, baby.” 

Cas’s grin sends a jolt to Dean’s heart. There is so much beauty in this man, and Dean can’t believe his luck. Taking in every detail, his happiness takes a decidedly sultry turn. Cas is indeed wearing a tux, and he looks damn good. His hair is slicked back on the sides and looks as dark as the shiny black fabric of his coat. The contrast of white at his neck highlights one of his best features, the sharp jaw line that Dean wants to nuzzle into. 

Dean’s overt appraisal has lit the fuse for Cas, too. Seeing him so healthy after weeks of physical and mental decline is a miracle in and of itself. His flirtatious smile and the hunger in his eyes is more than Cas could have ever hoped for so quickly. He wants nothing more than to ravish his beloved Dean. 

The room that they are in might be full of rebellious party-goers, but it’s in another time and place where a man can’t kiss another man in public without causing a scene. Taking Dean by the hand, he walks quickly to the shadows. Away from prying eyes, Cas turns, but before he can take the initiative, Dean is on him. 

Moaning into the kiss, Dean’s hands cup the nape of his neck and slip around his waist. Cas feels perfect in his arms, warm and alive. Energy seems to spin around them as they lose themselves in each other. Dean hears Cas thanking the creator that he’s here, and Dean wonders if the creator will actually answer one of his few chosen immortals. 

Cas jumps away from the kiss with a gasp. Shocked eyes go wide as he stutters out a question. “You-you could hear the words of my prayer?” 

Dean nods, skeptical of his extreme reaction. 

“Dean,” Cas says reverently. “It’s done. Your transition is complete.” 

Dean can hardly believe what he’s hearing. More welcome words have never been spoken. A gentle lift of the corners of his lips causes a dramatic response in his darling Cas, who tips his head back and laughs with delighted relief. 

Dean steps into his embrace and is infected by the contagious joy. Beneath the celebration is a litany of thanks offered silently. 

“We can complete our bond now.” Cas grins at him and slides his hands to cup Dean’s face. 

“Does that mean that I don’t have to leave you anymore?” Dean tries not to put too much hope into the question. 

“As soon as we’re completely bonded, you won’t ever have to go anywhere you don’t want to, my love.” 

Dean exhales heavily and leans in to kiss Cas. He kisses him sweetly, but with such emotion that they are left breathless. 

“I don’t want to spend another day without being bound to you. Can we finish this now?” 

Cas is looking at him with wonder, “Yes, of course. Where would you like to go?” 

Dean contemplates his answer carefully. He can feel that the destination will come to be important for them, so he wants to go somewhere significant. A stray thought causes him to ask, “Do you have a home, Cas?” 

He chuckles in response. “Several, actually. One of the perks of not having to travel conventionally is that I can get to remote and secluded places where others can not.” 

Dean will need time to process that later, but for now, he blinks a few times. “Okay...which one is your favorite?” 

Sly mischief meets him in response. Cas takes his hand and grins wide. “We’re a little overdressed for where we’re going, but I suppose it makes sense.” 

Cas doesn’t elaborate on the cryptic statement, but before Dean can ask what he means, the glowing, golden candlelight turns up and changes hue. He smells the delicious aroma of sea salt, and feels the walls of the room give way to an open expanse. Looking around him, Dean is speechless. He and Cas are standing on a long, white sand beach at sunset. The water is shifting from a gorgeous turquoise to a silvery shimmer as the sun sinks lower and casts purple to everything. 

Dean turns in a circle, taking in the sporadic palm trees that gather into a dense jungle, the steep mountain at the center of the island, and the endless ocean. Only two human touches invade the pristine landscape. A catamaran is anchored out about a hundred yards off shore, and a quain little house is tucked under the shelter of the trees. 

“Cas, this is magnificent,” Dean praises. 

“Isn’t it? It’s all ours, sweetheart. This island is so far from civilization and away from any common shipping routes that we’ll hardly ever see another ship let alone another person.” 

Dean grins and steps closer to Cas. “Is the boat ours, too?” 

He just nods with a smile. “Would you like to go out and see some of the reefs later?” 

“Absolutely.” Dean chuckles, but the laugh goes silent in the middle and suddenly Dean looks shell-shocked. 

“Everything okay, love?” Cas loops his arms around Dean’s neck and idly plays with the fuzzy, short hair at his nape. 

“Uh, yeah. I just-” Dean trails off again and focuses on Cas. “Not even an hour ago, I was in a psychiatric hospital, in immense pain, with no end in sight. The second I finally got that book to light up for me, it’s like a switch flipped. I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt, more content and at peace, too. It’s like everything that I was struggling with just stopped.” 

“In a way, it did. You were fighting through becoming like me, and now there is nothing left to battle. Your fight is over and now you can be at ease.” 

Cas pulls his head down to brush his lips against Dean’s. “I love you, Dean. I’m so proud of you.” 

Murmured words of love and devotion pass between their lips when they separate enough to allow them. The kiss deepens as they grasp each other’s bodies tightly. It is Cas that pulls away first. 

“Before we get too carried away, let’s do what we came here to do.” 

Drunk on Cas’s kisses, Dean questions, “This isn’t what we came here to do?” 

Cas rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but his smile belies his annoyance. “There is a ceremony to complete our bond. It’s the last step to seal us as soul mates.” 

“What do we have to do?” 

“My brothers and sisters must be witnesses, vows are taken, and you will be given all of my knowledge.” 

“Your brothers and -” Dean leaves off the rest of his question as one by one, figures appear around them. There are dozens of people standing with them within seconds. Cas smiles at them all. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says sweetly. “It means the world to me to have you all here.” 

Cas hugs and welcomes each person, introducing them to Dean. The most striking thing that he notices is that their guests represent almost every race group on Earth. Cas’s family is international. It makes sense, when he thinks about it. Cas is decidedly European looking. He doubts that he would have been able to blend in and be trusted in ancient Japan or Peru with a simple costume change. 

The kaleidoscope of humanity is beautiful to behold. He briefly has a snarky thought about Cas’s family looking like a Benetton ad, but quickly dismisses it. They are receiving him with such an earnest acceptance that he refuses to taint the moment with cheap humor. 

A short, slightly older man approaches when all of the others have offered their congratulations. He hugs Cas with fatherly intent and enthusiasm, and then turns and does the same for Dean. His touch sets something off in Dean’s mind. Without needing to be told, he understands that this is the creator, the being who he has always thought of as God. 

“Castiel, my child, I’m glad that you are finally able to take this step. I trust that you are happy with my choice of par animus?” He actually winks at Cas which makes Dean’s brow furrow in confusion. That is not what he expected from God. 

“I couldn’t be happier. Dean is so much more than I had hoped. Your descriptions didn’t do him justice.” 

Dean stands gob smacked, listening to them talk about how amazing he is. A deep red flush touches his cheeks and flares up his ears. He’s pretty sure that this day will go down as the most surreal in his life. 

“Well, I couldn’t give everything away. Spoilers and all that.” 

Turning his attention on Dean, he says, “You think of me as God, but that’s a little formal for family.” 

Dean clears his throat. “What should I call you then?” 

“Call me Chuck. That’s what I go by on Earth.” 

Dean agrees and Chuck turns serious. “Son, are you ready to enter into this eternal commitment?” 

This is one question Dean can answer without any further thought. “Yes. I’m ready.” 

Amusement lights in Chuck’s eyes. “No questions or concerns? No second thoughts?” 

Is he really being teased by the almighty creator of the universe? “No, sir. Not a one. Cas is my destiny.” 

“Well, yes. In a manner of speaking, he is literal destiny; all of my Goraal are.” 

“Goraal?” 

“That’s our true name,” Cas explains. 

Dean furrows his brow in thought. “It’s Hebrew. It means destiny?” 

Cas and Chuck smile at him. Cas takes his hand and turns the ring on his finger. “The inscription is in Turkish, but the saying is much older than the Ottoman Empire.” 

Dean tilts his head, starting to piece together threads from the last months. “If Cas is destiny, then I’m …" 

“Effort, yes. Well, you were. In a few short minutes you will be a Goraal, like the others.” 

At Dean’s confused look, Chuck waves him off and takes one of his hands and one of Cas’s. “Never mind. I think you’ll understand as we complete the ceremony.” 

Dean lets himself be crowded by the others, their bodies leaning in close and forming a circle around Dean and Cas. Chuck begins the formal speech in ancient Hebrew, which fluctuates and sounds like static until Dean's brain translates it. 

“This is a wonderous occasion not only because we come to join Castiel and Dean as par animus. We also have the honor of welcoming a new member to our family.” 

He turns to Dean, his undivided attention overwhelming at this close range. “Your diligent work and sacrifice were required to prove you worthy of Castiel. That is why you are referred to in the prophecies as Effort. No one claims their Goraal partner without many difficult trials. Now, Dean, your struggles are over.” With those words, Chuck places a hand on Dean’s head in a blessing. 

His head bows in reverence as a heady lightness fills his being. Shimmering energy courses through his body, igniting every nerve as it passes. Internally, he expands with a luminous heat centered around his heart. Suddenly, he understands that nothing is out of his grasp. He need only speak or think his desires and he will be able to fulfill them. 

When the wave passes over him, Dean’s eyes snap up to meet Cas’s. Awe overcomes him as he is flooded with divinity. His body emits a white glow that seeps through his clothing and circles his head like Saturn’s rings. 

Cas feels such gratitude to be experiencing this with Dean. He doesn’t remember this moment in his own life. He was born with eternity and divinity pumping through his veins. He can’t imagine anything else, but he feels an iota of what it must be like through their almost complete bond. 

“Castiel, speak your vows,” the creator commands gently. 

He swallows against the rising excitement. He has been preparing for this moment for eons. “Dean, I am yours. I have already lived what some would consider an eternity, but it was all preparation for my life to truly begin.” 

Cas steps closer, taking Dean’s right hand in his. As he speaks, he slides the ring off of his finger and switches it to his left hand. 

“I have known about you my whole life. I’ve spent centuries wondering what you would be like and waiting to meet you. I told you when we met that you were promised to me, but that I wanted you to have the opportunity to choose me, too. Hearing you stand here, literally before God, and say that I am your destiny without the slightest hesitation? It is all I could ever want.” 

Dean sees the emotion well up in Cas’s eyes, making them glassy and so amazingly blue. Their color seems to glow as Dean gets caught in them. The others might still be there, or they might have vanished as quickly as they arrived. He has no room in his consciousness for anything except Cas. Even the spectacular sunset behind them pales in comparison to this man. 

“I will be by your side for the rest of eternity. We will witness the birth and death of stars as we take comfort in each other’s arms. You are my home and I will be yours. Nothing will ever come between us again. I have already given you a pathway into my mind and heart. Today, I share my soul.” 

Cas kisses his ring and then his lips. In that moment, his promises become a reality. 

Something snaps into place within Dean, making his body jerk with the impact. The impression of emotions he had felt coming from their bond before was just that, a vague simulation. Now Cas is a clear presence in his mind. 

The separation of their bodies is an insignificant thing. He hears both of their hearts beating, he knows every rise and fall of their breath, every nuance of their thoughts and emotions. He can't hide anything from Cas, and it should terrify Dean to be laid so bare. Instead, there is a tremendous comfort in knowing another person so intimately. Cas was right. Nothing can come between them. Even though he is connected to Cas in the most profound ways, he still can’t look away from his cherished face. 

Dean’s body is trembling with the changes, but he feels too energized to be concerned. His strength is returned and expanded, so Cas’s warning to hang on is surprising. Until, of course, Cas begins to pour his infinite knowledge into him. 

On the sand, Cas holds him when his knees drop out from under him. He pulls Dean’s back to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around him. Where his hand touches Dean’s shoulder, bursts of light and chaotic swirls of energy escape and make their way back to seep into Dean’s body. Cas keeps his lips brushing the delicate skin under Dean’s ear as he murmurs praise. 

Dean can feel knowledge overtake him like a deluge. Decades, then centuries, then millennia of human existence fill his brain. His understanding of the universe tilts and expands. Scientific theories that used to baffle him now make perfect sense. He sees the construct of space-time; he recognizes the patterns that govern both sub-atomic particles and galaxies. 

He is stunned by the gifts he is receiving. His breath is heaving as he works to absorb everything that is being passed to him. When it feels like he can’t keep up, he speaks to Cas across the bond. 

_“Cas, I can’t take this much at once.”_

_“Shh. Don’t fight it, my love. You are designed to be able to accept everything I am.”_

The fear Cas feels from him evaporates with his words. It is seamlessly replaced by trust that Dean places in his hands, and tears well in his eyes once again. His soul mate is brave beyond belief. 

Eventually, the transfer slows to a trickle and then to individual drips. Dean sags into Cas, lets his head fall onto his shoulder. They settle together, breath and heart beats in perfect sync. Every rhythm of their bodies have become entwined for all time. 

The stars are out now that the sun has disappeared over the horizon. Dean used to love looking up to the heavens, seeing nothing but possibilities among their infinite number. Now he can recognize them by name, by distance, and by age. He fears that the knowledge will strip them of their mystery and fascination, but instead, he finds that they have become more beautiful, like treasures that only he understands. 

“I can look back in time, over three hundred years ago, and watch the moment when Cassiopeia A went supernova.” 

Cas quirks a smile. It will take Dean years to push against his new expanded boundaries and figure out every gift he now possesses, and Cas will be there to marvel at every new discovery with him. He kisses Dean’s temple and answers, “Yes, and you can tell me down to the second when that happened.” 

Dean is silent for a moment, then chuckles, “Yeah, I can.” 

Dean sits up and turns to face him. “How could you have possibly found me interesting when you had this endless knowledge? How did you put up with my ignorance for so long?” 

“Dean,” Cas chastises, “My love for you isn’t based on the facts that you know. I fell in love with your compassion, your diligence, and your love of life. Every time we met in the past, I found an overabundance of new things to love about you.” 

Dean knows that there isn’t any dishonesty in his words because he can feel it. He runs his fingertips over Cas’s jaw, and he is intrigued to find that he feels that, too. A shiver runs down his back as he considers the possibilities of this completed bond. What else can he feel? 

His urge to explore just how much of Cas’s sensory input he can feel becomes emergent. It’s obvious that Cas is following his thoughts, because he licks his lips and nods, going up on his knees to peel off his jacket. Dean stands to take off his fitted coat, kicks off his shoes, and drops his pants while he’s there. 

Those major obstacles out of the way, Dean’s eyes go drowsy with lust as he once again puts all of his focus on Cas. He’s managed to strip off his tie and shirt while Dean was occupied, and Dean can’t wait to get his hands on all that skin. 

Dropping to his knees in the sand, Dean touches Cas’s chest with tentative fingers. He’s not prepared for what the soft caress does to them both. Dean doesn’t feel the touch on his own body like he thought. He feels it exactly the way Cas is experiencing it along with Cas’s thoughts and emotions. The feedback loop of him touching Cas and feeling what Cas feels is almost too much. Every stroke of his fingers sends shivers up his spine, which makes Cas moan when he feels it. 

“Jesus. Did you know it was going to be like this?” Dean asks as he brushes his thumb over Cas’s nipple. 

Cas’s mouth drops open at the sensation. “Theoretically, but...fuck. I didn’t think. So good.” 

Ideas burst in Dean’s mind. He wonders how quickly he could make Cas come given this new insight into how every sensation makes him feel. He wonders if they can synchronize their orgasms. He wonders if he can orgasm solely from giving Cas pleasure. 

He can’t wait to find out. 

Lust is burning in Dean’s eyes, and their heat sets Cas ablaze. “Let’s go inside,” he suggests, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up with him. 

“No, please. I want you now, Cas.” Dean leans in to take his mouth, and Cas can’t remember why he would ever want to walk all the way back to their house. His hands go to Dean’s waist, gritty, sticky sand and all. Feeling the shirt under his hands, Cas grunts his disapproval and rips the offending fabric until it’s out of his way. 

Dean laughs around the kiss and leans back. “All you had to do was ask, baby.” 

In the next moment, he is naked, and Cas is walking them toward the surf with their mouths connected in building need. 

He never realized how much Cas liked it when he nipped and bit at his lips, but now he feels it. When Cas’s desire spikes, when he hears his thoughts of “Oh fuck, yes!” Dean sinks his teeth in deeper, eliciting a gasping breath from Cas. Releasing his hold, Dean licks soothingly over the spot. Images of Dean biting at Cas’s neck, shoulder, and ass flood his brain, and Dean can’t help but chuckle. 

“Did I just uncover a kink, Cas?” 

Cas grips him by the back of the neck and pulls him back in for a deep, filthy kiss. The feedback of Cas’s tongue plundering his mouth while he feels his lips firm against Castiel’s lips is dizzying. When Cas speaks through their bond to continue the conversation, Dean can hardly keep up. 

_“Yes, sweetheart. I have a biting kink. I’m glad you’re taking advantage of your new abilities.”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me before?”_

_“That isn’t a getting to know you revelation. I would have told you in time, if you didn’t figure it out for yourself, clever boy.”_

_“Any other dirty secrets hidden away up there?”_

_He can actually hear Cas laugh in his head. “I guess you’ll have to keep exploring to find out.”_

Gentle, lapping water brushes their ankles, then their knees as they wade deeper, never once breaking the frenzied kiss. Thankfully, they are on the leeward side of the island where the waves aren’t able to swell without wind. 

All around them, an alien light blooms. Dean doesn’t notice until he pulls back to breathe. His amazement at the bioluminescent glow catches Cas’s attention. Dragging their fingers along the surface of the water, microscopic explosions of neon blue follow in their wake. 

Cas dips a finger into the water and then paints it on Dean’s skin. The color fades swiftly, but Dean grins at Cas’s playfulness. He gathers his own paint and draws a little heart on Cas’s chest. With a huffed out laugh, Cas calls him corny. 

Dean lifts an eyebrow in challenge, a devious smirk the only warning before he snatches Cas by his waist and lifts him easily in the almost chest-deep water. Just as easily, Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and loops his arms around his neck. Cascades of water sluice over Cas’s body as he comes out of the ocean, bringing the azure glow with him. It drips off his legs like frozen magma. 

He is stunningly beautiful, and Dean’s heart thuds with the weight of overwhelming emotion. By the light of the moon and the glowing undulations in the water, they move together in bliss. Cas’s eyes are black with lust as he guides Dean’s cock to his opening, urging him to enter his body. “I need you, baby. Please.” 

Nothing in his very long existence could have prepared Castiel for the sensation of Dean pushing his cock deep while he experiences it from Dean’s perspective, too. A high keening noise chokes out of his throat as he stares down at Dean. Their thoughts crash together, full of awestricken joy. 

_“Fuck, oh fuck. Too good. I’m going to come before you even move.”_

_“Oh shit, Cas. How...I can’t hold on. It’s too much.”_

A whimper of attempted restraint puffs past Dean’s lips, and Cas takes the opportunity to bring their lips, the only part of their bodies not currently in contact, to touch. 

Sex has always been good together, great even. Now, it is the final component of their connection. They are continuously joined in mind and soul. Adding physical intimacy completes the circuit in an incendiary way. They can feel each other’s pleasure in exquisite detail. 

Dean’s arm bands around Cas’s waist to hold him up while the other roams up his back to grip his shoulder for better leverage. He braces himself and then pulls his hips back. The slide is silken and velvety while he feels the pressure of his cock drag against Cas’s inner walls. 

They both tremble when Dean releases his tight grip on Cas and lets gravity help force his body down while his hips snap up. Cas huffs out a forced exhale tipped with a moan. 

_“Damn, baby. You’re unreal,”_ Dean speaks his intense desire directly into Cas’s mind. The growl of his voice sends goosebumps across Cas’s arms and down his spine. Dean sucks in a surprised breath to feel them. Cas’s hand tightens in Dean’s hair to offset the stunning pleasure. The response from Dean is delicious. 

In minutes, their movements become frantic, drugged and desperate. Dean can’t stop himself from listening in on Cas’s thoughts because they are the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard. The love of his life has a stream of filth rushing through his consciousness, and it’s going to give Dean a heart attack. The litany of “fuck me, wreck me, make me yours” doesn’t end, even when out loud, fucked out noises begin reverberating through both their bodies. 

Using every muscle and all of his strength, Dean drives up into Cas, pushing him towards a powerful release. Their eyes catch, and as Dean feels Cas tip over the edge, a caress of _“I love you”_ strokes his mind. Dean feels the convulsion and then the orgasmic contractions overtake Cas, and his own body is helplessly pulled along with him. 

He cries out and buries his face in Cas’s neck while he thrusts slowly through the squeezing ripples gripping his cock. Dean recognizes that the man he has clutched so tightly against him is precious beyond measure. He can’t help but well up with emotion thinking about being promised a day with Castiel, let alone an eternity. 

Cas comes back to himself as he feels the bloom of astonishment come from his love. Gently, he lifts off of Dean and steadies himself on his feet. They lean into each other as they trade blissful, lazy kisses. 

Without speaking, they agree to head for shallower water so they can rest their exhausted bodies. Cas sits just inside the foamy break, and Dean follows him down, resting his back against Cas’s chest. The gentle buoyancy of the water lifts him until his head is the only point of contact with Cas. 

“I forgot to ask earlier. Where are we?” 

His hands petting over Dean’s body while the plankton light up the water, he answers in his mind. _“We’re in the Maldives.”_

Cas gets the sensation that Dean is impressed and a little giddy. “Other than when I’ve travelled to meet you, I’ve never been out of the country.” 

“We will rectify that shortly, my love,” Cas promises. “I’ll show you everything that’s worth seeing on the planet.” 

Dean grins, bashfulness making him quiet while he confesses, “I think I’d like to stay here for a while, honestly. I know we aren’t actually married, but could we take a honeymoon and just settle in with each other without interruptions?” 

Cas ducks down to meet Dean’s eye upside down. “Yes, of course. We can stay here as long as we like. I welcome the idea of hiding away with you.” 

Dean nods and contentedly lays his hands against Cas’s legs, idly rubbing his thumbs along them. 

“Cas?” 

“Hmm?” 

Dean clears his throat and turns over, kneeling in between Cas’s splayed legs. “Will you marry me?” 

Delight sparks inside of Castiel, and Dean has his answer before Cas can speak it. He knows that the bond they completed today is a much more profound commitment than human marriage, but for some reason, he needs to bind himself to Cas in every possible way. Maybe it’s nostalgia for what he was, or it might be his desire to give Cas something from his world. 

With a purely content smile, Cas answers, “Yes, my love. Of course. There is nothing that I could want more than to be your husband.” 

Dean crawls forward, forcing Cas to lay back. He hears the ripple of a wave approaching, and takes Cas’s mouth in a claiming kiss just as it breaks over their heads. Through his thin eyelids, he can see the sparking neon churn around them as they try not to let their laughter break the kiss until the water subsides. 

Lifting Cas from the sand, Dean takes his hand and lets him lead them home. Silence between them is filled with peace. Their love for each other fills up every corner of their minds. 

“Does this island have a name?” Dean asks as they leave the beach for the edge of the jungle. 

Cas looks down with embarrassment. “I named it after you on the day you were born, actually. It’s called Winchester Island.” 

Dean grins and bumps his shoulder into Cas’s. “You big sap,” he teases though obviously greatly pleased by the revelation. 

***** 

After the first week of their honeymoon, Cas asks Dean if he’s ready to travel. Dean shakes his head from where it rests against his chest. “No, I think I’d like to stay for another week. Is that okay?” 

“It’s more than okay. We could stay here forever and I would be content.” 

Every week, Cas asks him the same question and every week Dean tells him that he’s not quite ready to leave yet. Instead, they lay in the hammock that Cas has strung high up on the mountainside and watch the storms roll over the water; they bathe and skinny dip at the base of a tall waterfall; they snorkel and dive among the reefs. 

Dean is mesmerized by the hundreds of vibrant fish that dart by and flash iridescent. He knows every species by name, but makes up ridiculous ones to exasperate Cas and make him laugh. Exploring their paradise becomes Dean’s sole desire. 

Besides Castiel, of course. That is a given. Multiple times a day, they succumb to the need that is ever-present and waiting in their growing bond. Dean’s hands hardly ever leave Cas’s body. Sometimes, though, the newness of their connection and the depth of what he feels overcomes him, and Cas is there to take control and guide him back to level ground. 

After six months, their skin is tan, their hair shaggy, and they spend all of their time as close to each other as they can get. Cas pushes Dean to expand his control of his gifts by day, and by night, he lays his head on Dean’s chest and listens to his future. 

Sleep isn’t a necessity for either of them anymore, but they both enjoy resting in each other’s arms for hours while Cas tells him stories of his long life before Dean. Told through their telepathic connection, Dean experiences them through Cas’s memories with perfect clarity. 

One day, Dean wakes up ready to travel. His enthusiasm to tackle a historical wrong and rectify it is infectious. Cas smiles knowingly, allowing Dean to pick their destination. They sail on the Santa Maria to the island of Hispanola in 1492. No matter how they try, Columbus will not be swayed away from his belief that they have landed in India. 

Cas allows him to revisit the event over and over again, his patience never wavering. Finally, Dean relents and admits defeat. Cas sweetly reminds him that some ideas cannot be swayed no matter how they might change the world for the better. After that, Cas drives their travels while Dean learns to read the practically infinite number of historical possibilities. 

“You will learn what things you can influence and what you can’t. Don’t be frustrated, Dean.” 

He sighs. “I know. I just thought that having this immense knowledge would be all I needed to do this job.” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Cas teases. “But we have nothing but time. 

***** 

Sam walks to his dorm room, feet dragging from exhaustion. He’s still not sure that having Dean committed for two weeks was the right decision. Something about their last conversation isn’t sitting right with him. However insane it had sounded, Dean definitely believed that he was telling Sam the truth. But, time travel? Becoming an immortal being? It’s too much for him to contemplate without sleep. 

He has time to think about it, too, because he won’t be able to see Dean for at least five days. He’s on restricted access, which means no visitors until the scheduled day. 

Except, Dean is standing next to his poorly patched door. Sam stops abruptly while his brain tries to reconcile what he’s seeing. 

Dean has a man practically pinned to the wall. Their legs are tangled together, and Dean’s face is an indecent distance from his. Dean leans in to take a chaste kiss from the dark-haired man, and then nuzzles his nose against his cheek. Suddenly, Dean flashes a joyous smile while his friend laughs. Their eyes lock while they seem to carry on a silent conversation. 

Sam doesn’t know how Dean got out of the hospital. It is supposed to be a secure facility. Did this guy he’s with help him? Whatever is going on, Sam wants answers. 

"Dean?” he questions. 

Dean looks up and quirks a small smile at his brother. “Hey, Sam.” 

“What? Why? How are you here?” Sam can’t get his brain to move forward. It’s stuck in a loop of wondering who this guy is and why Dean is so fucking tan. 

Dean approaches him slowly, like he might spook and run. “How about we go in your room and talk?” 

Dean turns a quarter turn like he’s listening to something and then gives a curt nod. “I can explain everything, Sam.” 

As soon as Sam opens the door and lets them in, he mutters to Sam. “Did you forget your manners?” 

Dean squints his eyes and purses his lips. “I’m sure you know exactly who he is, Sam. I didn’t want to get into it out in the hall.” 

Sam glares at Dean and the other guy looks like he wants to strangle Sam. Dean huffs a sigh and holds out a hand to placate the other man without looking at him. 

“I don’t have a clue who he is. What the fuck is going on, Dean?” 

Dean tilts his head, gob smacked. “This is Cas, Sam. I’ve been telling you about him for months.” 

Sam shrugs his shoulders and turns his glare on Cas. “You said he was an online friend. I didn’t know if he was real or not.” 

“Are you always so mistrustful of your brother?” Cas snarls at him. 

“Why don’t you back off, asshole! Dean is my family.” 

“You impertinent shit,” Cas begins as he takes a step toward Sam. Dean is in front of him before he can plant his foot. His hand rests on Cas’s chest, not to restrain him, but to offer physical connection. They stare into each other’s eyes, obviously carrying on an entire conversation without a word spoken between them. Cas breaths out harshly, but covers Dean’s hand with his own. It’s then that Sam sees the ring on Cas’s hand. It’s almost identical to the one that Dean is wearing. The ring that he was wearing before he went into the hospital. 

Realization strikes Sam hard. “Are you married?” 

Dean turns and smiles at him with a joy and contentment that Sam has never seen on his brother before. “Yeah, we are.” 

Sam gapes at him for a few moments; watches Dean tangle his fingers tenderly with Cas’s. “When?” he manages finally. 

“About five years ago,” Cas replies. Dean knows that he says it to push Sam further, but he isn’t going to chastise him about it. Sam is being a dick. 

Sam looks back to Dean for clarification, but he just lifts his brows like a shrug. 

“I don’t...Dean, this is insane. I just left you in the hospital.” 

“For you, yes. For us it’s been over five years.” 

Sam scrutinizes them more. “Is this about the time travel thing again?” 

“The time travel thing?” Cas growls. “You still don’t believe him? He opened up to you and laid himself bare and you crushed him with your refusal to trust him.” Cas gets louder in his defense of his soul bound husband. “You broke his heart and you could have killed him!” 

The accusation hits Sam between the eyes like a bullet. He looks back to Dean, who isn’t denying anything his apparent husband is saying. Instead, he looks down and away, uncomfortable at revealing his vulnerability. Cas steps closer to Dean and sweetly kisses his temple in support. 

In a quiet voice filled to the brim with sadness, Sam confesses, “Dean, I never meant to hurt you. I just-I just don’t understand.” 

Cas rubs his hand over his jaw and sighs. “You need proof. Physical proof, yes?” 

Sam shrugs, “I guess it would help, yes.” 

“Okay. I can go anywhere in time. What would you like me to bring back?” 

Sam thinks for a moment and then lands on, “Bring me back an original copy of a poem by one of the Fireside Poets.” 

“Which one?” 

“Uh...Holmes?” 

Cas nods and vanishes into thin air. Sam staggers back to the wall, leaning heavily into it for support. His jaw is dangling open as he pants around the shock. 

“What the fuck, Dean,” he whimpers. 

Dean’s smug smile answers him. “I told you, kid. I tried to explain it, but you couldn’t see past the banal, common world to believe what else might be out there.” 

“So, you were telling me the truth. Everything you said was true?” 

Dean meets his eye. “Yeah, Sam. I’ve never lied to you, man.” 

Sam pushes off the wall and crashes into his brother. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Dean hears the wobble to his voice, but doesn’t mention it. He hugs him tight, glad to finally be able to get his secrets out in the open. 

Cas reappears but stays silent. Dean catches his eye and gives a grateful smile. 

_“Thanks for making me finally face him,” Dean says over their bond._

_“My pleasure. Would you like me to give you two a minute?”_

_“No, you’re family, Cas. You belong here with us. I want you to get to know him.”_

Sam pulls away and jerks in surprise to see Cas standing there. Cas and Dean both chuckle. 

“I had to win a game of high stakes poker to get this for you,” Cas teases. 

Sam takes the paper from him and gawks at it. It isn’t just a copy of the poem, Contentment. It is obviously one of Holmes’s drafts. 

“Holy shit.” Sam’s face brightens in amazement. When he looks up, he sees the bizarre eye contact happening again. 

“What’s with you staring at each other all the time?” 

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Spoken like a true younger brother.” 

“We’re talking to each other. Dean didn’t explain the nature of our relationship?” 

Dean is happy that Cas is mellowing towards Sam. Earlier, he’d been concerned that Cas was going to strangle him. One of the many things he’s learned about his loving, doting husband is that he is incredibly protective. Watching Dean have to endure the transformation alone had destroyed Cas, and he has pledged to never let anything hurt Dean again. 

“He told me that you’re soul mates?” 

Cas and Dean sit him down, and together they tell him their story. He asks a myriad of questions, absolutely astonished and intrigued by what they’re telling him. 

“So, this staring shit is really telepathy?” Sam asks excitedly. 

“Yes,” Cas laughs. “I suppose you want a demonstration?” 

Sam nods vigorously. He makes Dean go into the bathroom while he writes down a random word on a notebook. Cas reads it, and then Dean calls it out from the other room. They humor him through the first ten words, but then Dean comes back in. 

“That’s enough,” he grumbles. “We’re not dancing monkeys.” 

They talk through the afternoon, walk to Guadalupe St. to find some dinner, and then walk Sam back to his dorm. When they stop at the door, Sam realizes that they aren’t staying. 

“Will I see you again?” he asks in a small voice. 

“Sam, you’re my only family besides Cas. You’ll see me all the time.” 

“It took you five years to visit,” Sam reminds him. 

Dean sighs and admits, “I was broken about how things went down. It took me a while to digest it and get over it.” 

He hugs Sam again. “We’re good now. I promise that I will be here for your life. I won’t miss any of it.” 

Stepping out of Dean’s embrace, he asks, “So, where are you off to?” 

They both shrug and look at each other. “What do you think, my love? Where would you like to visit next?” 

Dean contemplates the question like he’s deciding on a dessert. Finally, his face splits with a huge grin. “Tombstone, Arizona. I want to see the Shootout at the O.K. Corral.” 

Cas rolls his eyes. “You and your cowboy fetish,” he mutters. 

Dean’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “You didn’t seem to mind when I-” 

Cas slaps a hand over Dean’s mouth in a rush. “Goodbye, Sam.” 

_“Spoil sport.”_

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing from readers, so please consider leaving a comment. I know your time is valuable, but it is so motivating to hear from you. I greatly appreciate every comment I receive. 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


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